image from internationalabstractartists.blogspot.com
“There are no facts, only interpretations.”
Camp alone on the high desert,
near midnight, when coyotes voice
your frustrations, your anguish;
while staring hypnotically
at the molten shades of flame
within your fire--
tracing the swarms of live sparks
that launch skyward above
the popping & snapping
of burning mesquite.
Hold your gaze at the trajectory’s apex,
where the sparks drop back to ground--
then further up into stratospheric ebony,
that ant’s nest of stars that choke the sky,
dancing like Navajo silver jewelry
around the blood moon.
The cosmic conundrum congeals
behind your eyes, beyond your
visual cortex, as you ponder
on how anyone can grasp
infinite universes expanding--
a never-ending metaphysical drama?
Are we but dust mite microbes
in a macroverse residing
within a viscus dew drop
on an illusory Joshua Tree?
Are we co-creators of AllThatIs,
or simply window dressing
created by hordes of gods,
unseen, faceless, genderless,
Then rejoice, for at those moments of projection
& introspection, when quantum insights have to
be distilled & rendered down to coherent thought-
bites, we are simply too awed by our infinitesimal,
yet colossal, essence, fully encased within the
meaty manifestation of our spiritual entity,
to really give much damn credence to the
present neo-fascist alternative facts barrage
that pelts us like corrosive acid rain in a foul
continuous Trumpian turd-storm.
concentration camps, so we
will survive the Trump.
Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub MTB