Perplexed Views

The dots, million times,
like fire ants.
A black mass, you want
to exterminate.

Give me a light year
to understand the gray sky.

After the blast
the mind spills.

Thoughts, endless thoughts.

How do you reach the rim-
of success, as an ing'enue,
drifting down, without raft
in the river?

Was it a winter sleep of a toad
to ward off the
hypothermia?