On flaming ships in darkness,
the pitch-black of inflating blindness grows boundless on every-side,
with orbits giving over on stellar winds to oscillations vast,
or some disturbance to the curvature,
where confident and full of hope, she spreads her golden sails.
Her crew, they split the ether as sailors before
fathomed Atlantic and the depths in search of some foreign west.
There among the emptiness adrift, no one—save the speculation:
not the pearl blue marble of land, not the safety of leaded ties,
not the ebb and flow of conversation to bind and fix the mind
from the endless horizon to the task at hand
of building a lotus bridge amid the weightless spaces between
dissimilar planets and voyagers vying for land.
The sciences build lotus bridges, filling the void—
between ‘n explosion of unknown proportion
and an inflating pearlescent ocean of stars.
The Poetry Of J.P. 