There's even a place for
light to hide--
where the speed of its year
goes to stop seeing.
To sleep the silence of a
different kind of clarity.
The center of a record fixed
to a point of no return, as
was on eternal play.
Now playing the first as last
note, every song's ghost.
Perfect circles drained
through one another...
sentience chasing itself.
Highest high, lowest low--
experienced simultaneously,
then cut off at peak intensity.
A sound that sighs the passion
of extinction--a whole wholly
consumed.
To equal the nullification of
lesser and greater degrees.
The richest black ever unseen--
colored by what tried to get
out of G*d's sight.
Where angels fall, and stagger
off--having been strip-searched
by Truth...enough.