Sunday, November 12, 2017

White Mountains, Blue Vista, Black Hole

"Black holes are not, as it turns out, places where time ends once and for all; they are objects that exist for some period of time before they eventually disappear."

Always dynamic,
Always finite, everything
Observed, observing,

Long as you don't look, there's hope.
A man living in his car
Hobbles through the coffee shop
And buys a short chai latte

With a fistful of loose change
Scrounged from under his car seats
Then squeezes in a corner,

Opens a laptop,
Logs on to the free WiFi,
And begins to type.

What the hell is he typing?
What could he have left to say?
He hasn't looked yet.

He's holding out hope.
Something is radiating
From his poorly defined form.

He's typing these words
As if he'd never composed
Three thousand earlier poems,
As if he'd never

Stop composing them.
He is still changing.
He'll keep changing still.
So will you. Death, too.

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