Crossings

When I reached the edge of the abyssal night, in plain view of the condensation of stars, when "us" was impossible to carry rolled in my school backpack, and it all became a fact, without step back, the conversion of yesterdays closed in my bones, It no longer mattered how I felt about my crowning that fetus in a beaten belly, helplessly birthing into a deafening white noise... When all is set and done there is a crossing, at the bottom of a creek into yet another unreal future. I'm about to take a leap into the unknown into the void remotely here writing you a poem.