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Each ray was an arrow pulling a string of light.

Together they formed a vast tripod for the sky,

Its stability dependent upon the many spider legs below.

To me, they were rainbows and reflections of gods,

But you took a prism, and formed them into components

That gave a perception the rest of us had to acknowledge.


All the stars' misdirected energies, falling spontaneously,

But somehow converging as though funneled into one mind

In picture patterns that could not defy your mathematics.

The rest of us wondered what authority could be found

By using methods that contradict the feeling within us,

And by attempting to do that which we knew could not be done.


How could  you claim to set your scope on direct course,

When the north star, for all its radiant constance,

Is too diffuse to light the way without magnification?

Yet your heart is attached to the axis of that star,

Your arms revolving, as do the rest of us,

But your mind as stable as the sailor's course.


We revolve about that axis in concentric circles,

Claiming to be special moons for a vast universe,

And, disjointedly, pointing a multiplicity of directions.

You are left, to abrogate the contradictions

And dissolve the solid meanings that possess us

As demons of the heart's repressed uttering.


How is it you allow the culture to act as a prism,

Focusing upon the mechanics of our inner workings,

Giving you the perception we cannot acknowledge?

But be warned: the tripod is stabilized at its base

By each spinning spoke of the wheel below

As they revolve, perhaps meaninglessly, about the axis.


The flame too is cast in energy misdirected.

As the candle appendages call out your name,

Will you once again hold out that prism,

The focus back to the Dipper's base,

As you accept the unexplained acquiescence,

The most fearful of all those previous perceptions?


                                                                                   ~~~ by Michael Chaussee



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