A fluttery piece of parchment,
in the bowels of a tree:
a space-time horizon
over which i cannot see

Composed of gravity and fear -
this dead weight inside of me,
often tries to kill me
and won’t go away.

I send this freight’s immensity
to the centre of a black hole;
retracing the wandering journey
of a wandering long-lost soul.

Mine is a grave-singularity,
that contains a terrible mass,
fitted into an infinitely small space,
it's a  density — gravity — immensity — interface.

Locked in this space-time continuum,
Curving towards a fault-line,
where the laws of physics cease to be,
where time elongates me,
finally, setting the dead images free

Into a technological singularity,
a ‘superintelligence’ AI,
neither random, nor designed,
One in the eye for pie-in-the-sky
it triggers my mind
into an expansion in time

Poetry - results from this altered human state,
a discarding of the complacent,
a re-ordering of fate in rhyme,
that always comes too late
for us to read the signs, in time. .

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