or, Out the End
Perhaps the Nietzchean god felt himself dying
When he willed the cosmos,
Knew not what else to do, and in a gaseous gasp
Produced a big bang.
(Which, of course, to him may simply have been sbd)
At any rate, on his death-bed, soon forgotten. . .
(Tho’ some old adage holds that ‘every man loves
the smell of his own farts, so maybe not).
poetastrophy 