Egg-Sistance In The Distance Poem by Zoltan Peter

Every man (maybe everyman)
when there were neither then
nor where
only their own ideas
(and) minus time
remained inhuman
grime
on the world’s just dead floor
w/there I don’t exist any more
without time perhaps fragments
parts of us
on the conveyor belt
automatically start made up
history (of neccessary self-industry)
for its sake, (f) or the potential
for what
might be
other
(out of) nothing