In these times
Each being,
Without wanting,
Is like
Klein's bottle: a
Trick of drawing
Whose outside is
Its inside
And its inside out,
A bottle
Which contains
Itself:
To reach "out"
Is to be deflected - as
By a field -
As in the universe
Itself, all
Light returning to
Its source
Sole selves, like
Like poles
Repel -
Thought too
Returns to where
It springs:
This "i",
Dropped in a pool,
Will start no swell - no
Ripple spreads
To mar
The mirrored calm
Of things
I rage,
I feel my love
Trapped
In a world
Of stillness
Like a wasting illness.
