In the dimension of nothingness,
. there isn’t very much.
Thoughts seem to dissipate,
. or so it seems as such.
It is a common place to go,
. when the future doesn’t exist,
The past has stopped developing;
. in my mind is this.
It’s like nothing and everything,
. combined but not distinct,
Blurred are your ambitions,
. like reflections in the sink.
Now I may have confused you,
. I myself perplexed.
Perhaps an answer to the problem could,
. be found with a lot more sex.
LOL.
My favorite A. E. Housman quote:
“Malt does more than Milton can
To justify God’s ways to man.”
But sex is probably a better. I’m too old to make an adequate comparison. 
No. It is as if in that nothingness there is something: not you of course, but other things, events, desriptions, appearances, and particularly doubts,
Yes, doubts: doubts which can freeze,
Like the rabbit: when faced with an oncoming light,
And that freeze, like the ones so long ago looking down , off old faux-baroque buildings
Saying something , trying to,
Without the motive of seeking unequal distribution,
Where it’s diminishing, and perhaps you’re not entitled.
But placing it in the + along side of many other trinkets, and with all this pressing
Down: you are redinfined, as another persona,
But it’s just another version of the recycled one from the other time,(but it seemed so much like mardi gras)
And now you say confusing?
There has never been not that it wasn’t so,
And the thought this came in such,
Will it go out thus.
(((Like an old gypsy thus, with a smile a mile wide, just barely making it off the crusts)))
That no one really trusts.
So what does he think, what do you, and of course it matters really, infinitissimely divided: almust
To the absurd. But that last reamining(remaining)
Tiny little sliver oh, my dear, soOoooooo indescribably dellicious!
That was probably my single greatest masterpiece.
I enjoyed the poem.
I also laughed.
I also agree.