when the horizon ceases retreating

and reveals itself to be the event horizon

into nothingness,

you are approaching the Abyss

with its constant, gentle tug on you,

and near-subaudible surroundsound, a compelling

whisper, both lullaby

and anthem.

if you anchor yourself to the still-here

and lean over a bit

it’s a rare opportunity

to see and hear that obliterative destination

and, if sufficiently defiant,

to spit in its non-eye.

.

a good, clean look into the Abyss reveals it to be

a nonreflecting mirror,

a sensory-deprivational membrane, deep

yet infinitely thin, in which your speculative notions

are trampolined and echoed back into your head.

the lullaby? you have hummed it yourself all

your life, from God i just want some sleep to

there must be peace and quiet somewhere…

the fight song that kept you going

when you were on the brink of breakdown:

i can do this one more day, i swear/that’s all i can commit to, I’m aware.

you continue fearlessly looking into the Abyss

and sensory deprivation causes crazy colors to swirl

like a melted bowl of electric-rainbow sherbet,

and snatches of deceased-friends conversation,

surely hypnotically suggested and induced,

drift up.

no one is really there

yet a throng is UNreally there, making itself heard

as loudly as the imaginary numbers

essential to mathematics.

any spit you had intended to launch into the Void

has evaporated; or maybe the Abyss took it from you.

it is time to back away.

.

a notion persists

long after you retreat to the safety of solidity:

we are not alone

when we cease to be.