We are table
glass on the table
glass ejaculating shadow
on the table
and light on the table
light that rises like smoke
from the table
smoke leaving the cigarette butt
that had died on the table
mist ascending from the table
to the light bulb
reaching the spark
that illumined the table
the judgment
the judgment upon table
we are all but the table
the lonely wisp of nothingness
that our table bears
like skin and vein
that remain on the table
we are this
cold and narrow
edge of table.

Nihilistic Poetry