cabman #7

waiting on a rider up on top of the hill, i had something like a revelation. it could’ve been that black hole that passed through my body, spinning slow at thirty-three and a third and soft as angel’s hair and cricket bows.

i saw a star create its shine and burn for a hundred million years, all the while
its light fluttering in our atmosphere like waves from fingers until it blew up red like an angry fist.

but i split it open, pried its fingers apart and dove straight down to the core, pulled inward by the gravity of all that makes a sun, where inside it burned a billion degrees, and moving
was swimming
in black vaseline

shifting from three to four
from space towards time
a joyride in a stolen car

in a moment unusual and natural, the giant furiously fell in upon itself, folded like you’d unfold a paper diamond, slaked its rage then broke out
like the fourth of July.

what was left were a billion world’s worth of ashes packed into a singular silver spoon

like into a bullet
like into a lock
like into a key

and everything was still rushing in, pouring though, coming to see. just the same all light all energy was trying to break out of that core - that lock that key - in infinite perpetual explosions, stifled by the funnel of all-light all-energy arriving anew.

and just beyond the horizon
where these rivers run and meet
they bottleneck and pause for only just a moment until the maelstrom spirals it all elsewhere

beyond light
beyond universe
through the now

and i
stretch top to bottom
like piano string
like angel’s hair
like cricket bows
and move through the lock
the key
to a new place
into the other
skating on time through space as easily as on a windowpane
.