I sit on the Bottom, Bottom of the Valley, Valley of Universe, Universe, and Time.
Looking over Mountain-Peaks, All I see is Mountain-Peaks, Underneath the Mountain-Peaks, Blindly making Rhyme.
Cross-legged at the bottom, Bottom of the universe, Sitting, wishing that I, Bottom-dweller, Might clear my sight line.
Stone-fenced Mountain-Peaks, Mountain-gates of perception, Gates with no door, And the world is not fine.
Bottom-dweller, Falsehood-feller, Fallacy trees are but toothpick curtains. Mountain-Peaks hide things better, Than subtle woods of pine.
Bottom-dweller looks up and sighs, At things he cannot scale Or even measure.
Bottoms Up.