Blink by blink, night by night
we shift further
down the corridor of dark matter and stars
that stare like needles;
what would await in the end,
I’d rather not know –
yet nature propels me.

The sphere of stars and the screaming void
of outer space,
is neither question nor answer:
it simply is.
If you had conquered Death,
dominated Time,
why would you care?

Who can say if the immor(t)al
hands of cosmos, hands of things blinded by light
are safe to hold
the salts and dusts and fragments
to which we are destined,
to which we all must shift?

Lulled by piping of alien skies –
to think we may sleep
when the Music was not made for us
but for Purpose;
for to keep It in line,
keep It docile:
That Which Should Never Stir,
who is neither question nor answer,
who simply is.
Who – what – lay in Reality’s center ring?
And does it wait for us with care
or with absolute zero?

I wake up dreaming.
I wake up screaming.