A collage of the immeasurable,
a black sooty cloud,
black glossy ink, blotting through
the thickness of a book.
Black waters ebbing and flowing
behind my secret cabin in the woods,
black pawns, bishops and rooks
in the stark white squares...
Uncountable blotches -
as the expanse of blackness,
as unknown as how many times
my ancestors have climaxed -
(enough to build a race
to race among themselves?).
The immeasurable piles,
love gone wrong, pains loaned
only to be repaid with interest,
yet in uncountable units.
I take a beaker without gradations,
fill it with the unknown solutions,
pipette out the black catalyst,
drop by drop, awaiting the twist,
until the lucid moments turn turbid,
until the explicit transparency turns timid...
Until all that is left is
an immeasurable blackness.
Until I am.
© Sana Rose 2020
Written on May 20th, 2016