He is empty,

but it's a chaotic emptiness,

teeming

with contraindications

and loosely crashing friction.

The power

finally signed the pact

with a pinch on the ear,

desolately clanging emptiness

and an image

on par with Guevara's;

the flash about the gods' favor

a pretense of Christ himself,

but it is Achilles, it is Hector, it is Agamemnon

who are lifted from the wings

into a tabula rasa's contemporary unpredictability.