Idea's incandescent pitch,
A summer baseball thrown endlessly
Among the city boys.
It's delivered at first light
With the fulgurations in the bridal shoppe,
The thought that these ideas
Set us free
At least for that hot instant
Before joy
Downclicks
To ennui.
There is a symmetry
Between a mind that is
Just thinking, and a world
That is just thought.
The holy wands and golden books
Were merely residue
Of what is pinned to a spinning swirl
Of otherworldly blue.
It lifts an idea,
Gives it power
In our mind
Any idea, any mind.
It all becomes the one divine
Totalizing conscience
That feels
What it knows.
