lens of god

at the stretches / vast edges of the universe
touching blurry cusps of existence
life wriggles from behind a telescope
and sits down at the desk
to write. in this moment
evidence of a beauty
(who has gone
	bending with the curve
of time. the secrets of the moon.

a touch of heat

i come here to write and only
i don't really know why
but sometimes there is a feeling
deep in the pit of my gut

and what results when i put finger to key
or pen to page
is simply some approximation of greatness
just a sliver, a hair, a microscopic granular

it's moments like these that have me wonder
if we really are the image of God-
but a fingerprint, a shape,
a chemi-coded, oil outline
of three dimensions...

a touch of heat in the darkness of space

streams of mountain and mud (for love i do)

oh just to glance once into your eyes
and find my own completion

(and here my mind tries to get the better of
me and asks me if I am sure,
and all I can reply is does What Is
Was and Will require a reason
in defence?)

gladly would i press my lips to yours,
for a moment become eternity
for Man alone is not God (Woman and Man are)
let go from your kiss and shatter into
a million, trillion pieces,
drip from the streams of mountain and mud
to every corner rain can find

I accept all consequences.