My friend Eric read the following passage in the science section of the times a few days after he read my poem and he sent it along to me:

"Relativity theory describes how the gravity of everything from subatomic particles to massive stars distorts and curves the four dimensions of space-time, like coconuts rolling on a rubber sheet. That changing curvature, in turn, determines exactly how the objects orbit around one another or fall together. A large enough congregation of matter can collapse to a point of infinite density, called a singularity, and shroud itself in a sphere of darkness---a black hole, whose gravity is so powerful that nothing can escape from it, not even light."

hello, singularity.

& i can still taste

the meat on my fingers.

where were you when the sun came up?

i missed you then.






i see your skin more clearly

now i know

your name       your number;

your vague . . .

address.

time wasted outside your grasp is       time to grow

even more

intoxicated

by your spell, your scent;       your smile.

the halo of your eyes

which spiral up

to heaven

when i watch you cum.





i've gone too close to       loving you

to feel no pain.        or hadn't you noticed?

the colour of your kitchen walls at midday

& the curve of your impish grin is enough

to make even the coffee

bitter       somehow, i still

want you





to walk through the rain for me,

ask me how my day was.

say something like:       'yes,

please.'       again.

let me hear you speak to me.





the intonations that your throat produces

weigh me down;

strap me in. make me remember

transmigrations---foreign twilights,

white lights,       past lives &

old souls

clambering for attention,

a chance at destiny . . . the opportunity

to play the right hand &

fuck with me; to do me the honours

of dwelling in the hollows of my ears in half-

compliant, oddly-

pitched, recapitualted whispers---

just another week,        just to see

how well       or

if i'll---listen! silly me,

i can hear the ocean's roaring

in your belly button.





practically        embalmed

in my sheets this morning,

i awoke to wondering whether the world had ended.

& heard a silence,       mmm . . .

just like a sunday

with the white linens out on the line.

a draught

that made my nipple tingle

introduced itself

as your . . .

replacement.





'hello,' i said, 'singularity.

i thought we'd meet again.'








written 4.19.99

• Chy Ryan Spain

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