old pools in the sidewalk once again.A small corner of the world quiets.I desire sleep or stimulation. Sitting here,I grow tired of simulation.The stars are not so bright—does heaven's mind grow dim?Feeling furred temples, my own mind's pulse—can it be so?A spark of all divinity residing here perpetually—does it also growdim? Evening feeds and feeds upon a stale discontent,my thoughts the dinner plate, myself the guest.Can one brain bring such diaspora in rein?Can one man make sense of the rivers' confluence,their eddies and waves, pierced by pockets of tranquility?Words can play, but do they pointbeyond themselves, cross the join, ford and pontoonthe strait between now and heaven?Such disconnected art! It seems all the world cravescannibalism—all desire and reward one frenzied racedown to the last deep smoothed pebble. How does one man alter such a course?Empires have built dams for smaller tributariesand each has ended buriedbeneath so much sand.No, man cannot make it alone. Stony dust is his fate anyway apart from kin.That is the prickle and spine of it—to join in mutual submissionor be crushed beyond repair.And still the air ever risestaller than buildings, and it seems at timeshigher than God,blowing us away into an eyeless, starless land,the Nod before any Eden.
* * *
Through training we grow strongerto fend off fiends one day longer,dusty pillars line the way beyond all sphinxes,darkened turrets sound immortal wishesand when we cross the final drawbridge,Prometheus unbounded vanishing behind us,we see there was no Euridice, no Cerberus or Chiron,and never any Dark Lord to vanquish—only our own selves so much increased,daemonic power now bequeathed by the same invisible hand that pulls us onward—an ineluctable grip strangling every star into dust,the castles in the sky all washed away by time's great ocean,and we the ice caps self-melting it ever upward.At last we are alone, the authors of our own etherization,every eye plucked, all tongues cut at the root,tossed into that same smaragdine firewe stoked with horse-blood long ago.We have forced ourselves in a fissure, a black orb calling all souls thitherand no one's left to tell.
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