My neck cut free from the millstone of unused lore,
A head floating far far above the ocean floor.
Adventure, event, avenir. A first coming
Of the never-ending quest forever in store.
Interdimensional many-tentacled beasts
Fill the mere outermost surface of so much more.
The bottom feeder’s facts have a tasteless flavor,
Nutrients minus the sweet life that food is for.
Two ways out of the matrix of mentality:
Get too big for the net or so small it’s a door.
Madness: the last resort of not, not the result
Of seeing that . . . that face of the thing you abhor.
Nicola takes an oath: to breathe words in desire
For direct knowledge of what he cannot ignore.