Density is Far Greater with Infatuation
poem by:
Rhys Lee
Written
on Mar 17, 2020
Maelstrom,
rising, howling, calling, demanding,
drawing deep and drawing in—
shifting and pulling, attracting
me—
Maelstrom,
rising, howling, beckoning—
singular and singularity,
gravity stronger than my atoms
drifting in circles like a record
on the spindle of my mind—
when will the needle wear
the grooves too deep?—
my thoughts exist on repeat,
unable to escape the ruts
I’ve dug myself, like trench warfare—
but I’m at war with myself,
logic and passion, logic
and desire fighting with an
ambiguous no man’s land
between where I actually exist—
Black,
no light can escape, but from what?—
my mind hold tight to uncertainty,
living in un-knowability, reaching
for understanding but unable to
translate thoughts into speech,
so I live quietly, speaking little
and just observing, wanting to be
a part but also apart, held in
Rhys Lee
Density, page 2, stanza continued
tight rope juxtaposition like a photon
trying to escape a black hole—
yet eventually I’ll be drawn in,
unable to leave, unable to escape—
what do I want?—what are my intentions?—
Black,
the color of endings, absolute,
absorbed in entirety, become
one, neatly resolved because
all colors like me are the same
in the overwhelming trap
of singularity—density in mass
so great nothing can escape—
where am I headed?—what
will become of us?—am I
acting rightly?—
Maelstrom,
call me into your being and
spit me out on shore from the fish’s
belly—let me drink deep of you
and drown under your waves—
pummel me and change me—
wear me as smooth as the stones
resting at your feet—
evolve me from your life essence,
deep in your abyss so
Black.
