first, find the event horizon.
dip your fingers into the melted
dimensions of space
like some cosmic egg yolk
leaking the contents of reality.
then taste it. put your tongue against
that inky blackness. feather your lips
across the heat, the fission.
when you have memorized
the bitter-sweet and maudlin
scent of light trapped so deep
it forgot its brilliance, look back
toward the stars that roil outside.
you've reached what they must die
to achieve; admire eternity, that
bleak static we seek from within
our frenzied utopia.