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# System prepended metadata

title: Nothing

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# Nothing
**by Greg Zeck**

*“Nothing seems to be right anymore. Everything tastes a little waxy.”* —Bembo making moan

After a visit to the dentist, friend, 
consider the bitter truths of the ancients: 
how our taste buds mutiny, our teeth 
grow long, and the globed fruit 
of our being, about which 
Archie discourses, sticks 
out the calyx of its tongue 
and talks back. Oh for the 
days of mute regressive glory! 
We look back, poking our tongue 
into memory’s corner, reconnoitering 	
the moments when everything we probed 
tasted good, so good, our dinners exquisite, 
our thoughts divine, our old ladies young ladies, 
and we ourselves bursting into bloom. Ahem. 
Your attention, please, one moment, you old dozer. 
Your forbearance, if you would, whilst I extract the wax 
from my hairy ear. What exactly is your bellyache?
