White Dot

Nothing is like anything else
Everything's the same
Our progress punctuated
By a series of coincidence
To form a logical chain

Nothing is like everything else
Like anything you name
Pomposity unpunctured
We're approaching a velocity
Of escape from our mortal frames

So nothing is like anything else
So everything's designed
We're utterly dependent on
Our self-deluding sense of what we've done
And what we'll do if we have time
With nothing else in mind

A time to think is now at a premium
You show bare inkling of a vital sign
Though in the pink
In every outward appearance
Inside it's white dot time

Oh, nothing comes to mind
So nothing comes to mind
Does nothing come to mind
When you're finally mindful of nothing?