I.
You are a galaxy of dark matter, moving so fast
that your clusters are flying apart.
Your head rotates on the pillow, the spit flying.
Your hysteria ejecting its human cargo.
To hold you together,
required something far heavier
than the weight of stars.
How strongly you deflected light
Dark Michael.
It didn't take long to figure it out.
Without your shadowy voids
you would fly apart, indeed,
you could not have formed in the first place.
You exist in the present, think futuristic.
But you are nothing without a past.
Dark matter is the dominant influence.
You are my primary evidence.
II.
Yet a universe is confusing.
There are too many forms
that dark matter could take.
I am a dumb theorist,
when faced with you.
I narrow down my range of options
to some very remote causes.
Many things are overlooked
during this initial phase.
I make excuses, ignore the obvious.
I grow unsettled and suspicious.
III.
The interrogation of you began
a systematic procedure
for exhausting a listing
of all conceivable possibilities.
I wanted answers and conclusions,
somewhere to land my ship,
without the risks of gradual discovery.
I might have known better.
This is a dark matter.
IV.
Small faint stars are the usual suspects.
Not enough inside to ignite the nuclear fuel
that keeps all ordinary stars shining -
long after the planets have turned away.
This is simply what we must endure.
Distant and mysterious - your raging fires.
Mere remnants from earlier generations -
Or heavier stars that all died long ago.
How many might we expect like you?
Perhaps there are millions, dark Michael.
But so far they can tell us little.
V.
The central pressure suddenly drops
And you implode into a black hole
That swallows all my good intentions.
Fragments of psyche frozen
Into an exotic dense phase,
only surviving from the core
of your very early universe.
You bend these passing light rays.
You act like a magnet - forcing my
light towards your endless tunnels.
VI.
I waited for love in return
just outside your horizon.
Your interior cannot be
observed from a great distance.
One must venture in…
Then what would happen?
Your large rock like throat,
a lump of frozen hydrogen.
VII.
You are a collapsed rotating object.
A horizon of spittle and obscenities
shrouds the odd interior from view.
If I get too close - I will fall
inexorably inward.
Your head diverges towards infinity
within a finite time - a falling clock.
You will stretch and squeeze your psychosis
with ever increasing intensity and frequency.
At first glance there seems no connection,
then one picks out more conspicuous features.
I know that when madly in love with you
any theories are at first stupidly bias,
incomplete, sadly lacking in sensibility.
VIII.
We finally look out into a cloudless orbit
towards yet another tragic star,
to where the heart has turned to dust,
or the ruined psyche is a dark matter.
This equation could be readily solved.
But now even my perception of the familiar,
influenced by my desire for a world
that is loved and able to love me in return,
has changed dramatically and perhaps forever.
