Those with something – they can make
Something out of nothing.
Nothing always takes something
To give forth, to yield.
Those with nothing can’t make
Anything, not to mention something.
There’s no their. There’s no those.
Oh, but those who are!
They busy themselves courting
Nothing with flashy something.
Their trick is something indeed.
Their something is their art
Of seeding zip’s hard-to-till field.
Nothing is special. “Nothing can breed
Something, ” beats Something’s heart.
From naught to dots to a red rose,
An everything Dada,
[12-17-05 Berkeley, CA]
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.