Event Horizon

Unattached
means

being in the supermarket
alone.

You hold the plastic shopping basket
on your arm,
letting it dig in 
and indent,
and you breathe
the air
from the freezers
and know

you are singular in this
universe. 

There are no strings
tied to you,
no weights
no homing beacons
to bring you back to
anyplace.

You are alone. 
This,
with the Muzak
and the dried-up
samples
of pre-packaged chip-dips.
This
is the singularity.

The point where I black hole
begins to be a black hole
and you notice all the stars
are getting sucked
in,
and there is nothing.

There,
that space
is you,
your body
in the frozens aisle.
Weighing bags of peas
with your hands.

And nobody is even remotely close.
The man buying taquitos
can't even touch you.

The universe is
telling you,
alone.

This is the end of the road
where nobody finds
but a few stragglers and
stray dogs.

The universe is dim
and quiet,
as you hum a little ditty
and shine the eggplants with
your dirty sleeve.