When They See Through Mountains

I wonder what he sees looking through that window
at me, I am on the other side of it, but it only goes
the one way, he must see his reflection, if the laws
of physics and optics are to be believed at all.

But, some part of me hopes that he can see me
through that glass and more then see me, perhaps
he will look through my skin and this mortal shell.
Perhaps he will know something about me intimately

without an explanation, or the sort of knowing that
comes from reading someone's writing. I think, though,
that that may be the sort of knowing that only gods
are prone to when they see through mountains.

If I'm to be seen by anyone today I must brush my hair
(and by that I mean nothing physical, I think you know.)

Starlight then is Lonely

Of the state of Silence
(that which you hear in Deep Space)
I know little, but what I am told
by distant starlight and
the feel of dark matter against my skin.
A caress, ears craving something in
their frequency to hold, not hallucinate.
To set those electrical patterns
pumping, pumping, pumping
vibration and nerve signals
deeply into the mind.
Starlight then is lonely.

Lemonade and Scorched Earth

some solid mass
formed of the ethereal
that had coalesced
into a man

drunken on power
inebriate of beauty
addiction follows
through the doors of vice

and still sanity
enamored of
the world of forms and emptiness
labored for a voice

but watching this
I took no part
just drinking lemonade
and dreaming of scorched earth

The Height of Entropy

The essence of a man
distilled in honesty
awareness disarming
thought of height
The essence of a man
described in absentia
to yield unchanged
unchained to cerebian fear.

Tread lightly man
you were the height of distance
between particles of entropy
and whispers in the empty ears
of the Phenomenal Woman
Primeval Witness
Distortion of Phenomena
Awakening
and Birth.

Temperance

There is still some sunset left;
a sliver of undarkend sky.
Some glimmer of hope
that is, perhaps, a reminder
the sun will return.
(And, perhaps crisp the skin
and bleach the bones of the Earth.)

Especially here among the Rockies
where day and night are so precisely separated
and the seasons move ahead in jerks of temperature
there is some tendency to take sides
on this unending cycle beyond our control.

I think perhaps the ghost of temperance
now looks over my shoulder speaking
something between a whisper and a shout
looking for the ally I cannot be.

I am a product of the human race,
prone to my extremes of thought
and rash action, but I can strive.