The Conjurer’s Black Hole
Time stills; it pulls your train to thread
and gives
you space to stretch your legs and be
adrift.
Event horizon thoughts; the world must yield.
Matter conflates, a scream of brakes
redshifts.
No end, no time to give an end, white pearl
the moon is stilled, the void is
coffin-black
your thoughts likes seeds will scatter back
to earth;
her eyes, her shape, the time you kissed
her back.
We cannot get outside our time to see
not even light, near truth, can now be
reached.
My mind, these lines, black rising rain can
be
a medium for inky ghosts to speak.
The conjurer can block my teeming pen
But elements of life erupt again
1 comment:
Interesting work.
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