Telescopic eye moves tongue. Elaborates fiery collapse of heaven
into itself, becomes dying cries of massive stars.
Galaxial dust of living metaphor.
Or proffer, occurs in cosmic deep on average of once a day,
though never the same place twice.
As Heracleitus streamed, weeping
Here’s what I know:
Mother’s favorite color combination is turquoise & brown.
Mind is trickster business.
We are born with inclinations, not fixed
A long bike ride with a friend, early summer
morning notes, "Gone to see great-
grandma," who lived nearly
under a bridge, and
I on an island, wind-ripped
ocean surface like whip
whapped against my own
surface is something — is recall
certain sights and smells, noticeable only when walking.
Rays called Gamma or God
we make ourselves suffer
suffer when we die.
And then not.
Italics in top third of poem — with the execption of "Weeping" — attributed to Dr. Shrivinas Kulkarni, California Institute of Technology, interviewed re: black holes in deep space. (John Noble Wilford, New York Times, 5.25.99.)