Nothing Poem by Jan Oskar Hansen

Nothing

Two o`clock this Wednesday afternoon protected by high walls
the sun is too hot I will have to wait till three before going back
out sit for half an hour getting a tan, my vanity knows no limit.
I do not want to write today weaning myself of this feverish drug
this internal conversation argumentative as an old Jew I once knew
in Leeds. I will think of nothing but sadly fail to stop this stream of
lava bubbling from its crater the smell sulphur of rejected thoughts
that will one day prove me wrong and plants shall grow.

But I stray from the subject thinking of nothing, what is it like? since
it can`t have any shape, form, smell or colour. Get up from my
chair in the sun too quickly collide with the door and fall unconscious
into a void, so know I know that nothing looks like nothing.