This is a boundary condition,
The fence-posts of infinity,
Saving the cosmos in one place,
With a record for everything,
Where each particle is numbered,
And recorded in position,
Requiring its own universe,
Its own space and history,
The state issues me an integer,
Unique in all proposals,
A sequence, taking few bits,
Each a small self-reference,
A self-swallowing fracture,
All time slowly running out,
From cold to total immobility,
A trillion years to start again.
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