Watching the stars circle my head
in the 26 degree darkness of four in the morning.
Ice chips of light arranged long ago
by a poet without words, I recognize you Orion,
Ursa major and your babe.
Neptune or Beatlejuice burn blue
and I recognize just how insignificant this all is,
showered in light born before we crawled from the sea.
Identifying mountains reflecting the bold moon
from snow drenched peaks - they look like phosphorescent
screens waiting for projection - a place to throw dreams
and desires to magnify and bounce back.
What does it mean that we experience the world
through the interpretation of stimuli - does the world stop
if we are not here to interpret its presence?
I break things. It is in my nature. It is who I am. I reach
to the stars, sending my own light into the universe
to cancel out and destroy all those mysteries I can never
solve, to pierce the darkness of all those emotions I
just don't quite get.
Mindless in my physical action,
I continue on, knowing only to push up. Down. Up.
The only sound in this world is pressure equalization
between the outside of me and the in. In and out.
Feel lightness. Feel every fiber burn as I realize the weight
of a lifetime of pushing air, pushing fluid, interpreting stimuli
and just wanting to sleep under the cold light of a billion years ago.