A particular religious sect in the Dakotas

lived in a community called Rustic Acres 

They might as well have called it Huckleberry Hound Town

It had as much to do with one as the other

 The Art of Forgetfulness 

was primary to the Arc of Nothingness

I forget why 

But it is

 Binary Decodence

was instituted in the hope of prevailing against Prairie Dog-ism in Eu Claire. The problem was they couldn't seem to find any. 

"Either they've moved on or have burrowed deeper than ever before. We can't be sure." Said one local non-expert. 

 He claimed 

He was one true Nothing

but 

he proved it 

he said

"I have no friends!

Everybody hates me!"

We couldn't argue with that. 

 The Art of Nothingness

was lauded in every print newspaper on the planet

Total: Zero

 

 Josiah of Esephus was unhappy.

The Arc of Nothingness was too much to deal with.

'We need a story, a cosmology, of how we came to be here, wherever "here" is."

The prairie dogs were not impressed. 

 The prairie dogs of nothingness

knew something was rigged

they couldn't put their finger on it

If they even had fingers

 He studied Ecclesiastical philosophy 

in his spare time

Spare time!

Hah!

 The prudent prairie dog

Knew the time-

It was rumored to be a far distant

relative of Eliot Ness-

but had never appeared on the tv show

 The arc of nuttin-ness

was vaguely related to Eliot Smith

there was some rumor of collaboration

but these ended upon his demise

 The arc of nothingness

Is a fountain of forgetfulness 

it leaves no shadow nor trail

But certain prairie dogs 

Know its grandmother's address

 The arc of nothingness

shines daily

mirroring the days 

Spitting its venom

like a cross eyed horney toad

fighting three scorpions

 I have oblivion in my head

It resides and pays me no mind

Echoing thru anxiousness again and again and

again and 

again

 The road to rock bottom

is well traveled so fuck it

Let's go 

must be something to it

 Protect your weary self

the ides of March are here

knives are sharpened!

blood thirst is

in their mouths

their robes are very fine 

silk and Egyptian cotton with

a filigree of Etruscan hyacinths

Their teeth are large 

in laughing mouths

stained with wine and shanks of mutton

They thirst for bloodletting 

like a disease

of their soul

 Measure your vices

versus your dreams

I wish my dreams had been more vices

sometimes it's good to be bad

walking the streets

Looking for a place w no sign

heaven closed years ago she said

And hid her cloven hooves

She had her hair in Byronic braids

attempted self surgery with a leaf blower

Carried a Hermes rototiller hairbrush

to beat her children

 A Day at Mt. Tam

Baffled 

by stodginess

crude and old white haired 

woman

fallen trail side

wouldn't or couldn't get up

mean little white haired dog too

three emergency vehicles

showed 

she bad mouthed the guys 

who called them

"They didn't help me!"