The Black

I would jump into that blackness, I swear
And I could not tell whether it was best to or not…

It’s a circle of vultures, really; those fiends needing to feed
It’s a conversation of utter nihility and supreme eventuality—I think

If I gave you a dimple in the sand and told you to walk

Outward, where would you end up?

Very much in the same place, I would say

 Since we walk silk-footed and ill-ward and round-ward

We come back to nestle at home, to be warm

To that inner-inner thing that pulses unrelentingly

Our thing that seems to keep beating despite it all

That thing I suppose we need more than it does

Our heart: we never do realize its battering

That which takes the brunt of our everything

I have thrown just about anything to it

And, yet, it is still there and beating

I thought it would probably end earlier than this

But I suppose there is more yet to be done

M.M.