Speak like a singularity, a lack <br />residing deep inside every lock, just <br />past the point keys can jab: against all thrust <br />make safe-ensure your door's core is held back, <br /> <br />for reckless access to that pure center <br />quarks more quintessence than taking exits <br />from those pried voids whose secret quickly sates: <br />ubiquitous if Space presses Enter. <br /> <br />Which inadmissible sill still calls loud <br />with imagine: our skeleton keeping <br />each such portal neither open nor shut, <br /> <br />unhoused of that exclusive dustborne cloud <br />we breathe, though there must be something <br />it accumulates, accommodates: what?<br /><br />Bill Knott<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/another-hole-for-w-r-rodgers/
