Black

Blacks beyond black there are and more beyond,
blacks blacker than a lake of bitumen,
wide firmaments of tar and pitch, despond,
asphalt infinities that swallow men.
Infinity is like the widow’s cruse:
however much is given there is more,
however much is lost there’s more to lose
with never any draining of the store.
Upon the deep, nigrescent, sly, untold
and viscous lake where even angels sink,
a slick of colours and a glint of gold,
an evenescent rainbow, oil on ink,
a shining, superficial, luring trick
puts bait upon the trap where we shall stick.

Oblivion

I came across a bridge above the trees;
it spanned a city and it crossed the seas.
As slender as a web, in quick ascent,
its length ascended to the firmament.
I mounted step by step and on the way
the earth beneath it vanished quite away,
diminished to a purple spot in space
and then to nothing, gone without a trace.
The bridge itself dissolved and in the void,
with every solid thing strayed or destroyed,
I stood in emptiness upon a rung
of vanished ladders where oblivion hung;
and all to be became a not-to-be
and nothing was, not even memory.