We call upon the paragon of stillness, the sacred vessel holding the integrity of nothingness, the intellectual illusion holding the puppets of the unanswerable, the infinite void.
And what then? How many ways must we ascend before the various degrees of lust lose their Fahrenheit? How many times must we blow the glass until the absence of fog, rain and reflection inspires the antidote to darkness?
What is there to clean when the residue that covers our cheeks is dried ash from our own overexposed wishes? And who will remain to witness us build guest homes from the tortured mythological foundations of our ancestors and then offer to help move us in?
What rings make some a pair yet sets others apart? Why does the set of all sets contain only some to discover that in the wild we are imprisoned and in our prisons we are wild?
Freedom demands we be set apart
Love demands we put our cheeks to the glass and allow the rain
The Paradoxical Escape