10/24/05 (more worthless crap)

The Alpine tunnel entered by a train
Is the space between the sentences on a page
And the difference between the night and day,

And one day and the next. The point of entry
To the day cannot be that of departure,
Cannot be coordinated by science to be the same.

Logic is a kind of madness that claims the space
Between the sentences committed to the page
That no space appears between the weather,

That the sky upon the earth is the same place
To contemplate, no space between them.
Logic dictates the pressure-zones we cannot see,

And dictates the places we can, that the tunnel
Through which the express train runs continues
With night and the mountain with steep faces

Unavailable to earth-movers or to switch-back roads
Or spirals that eventually touch the shining pinnacle,
A plaque bolted to the center of the summit.

Arguments nebulous as rain wash away
The mountain sides, make the shiny weather
Possible, between one sentence and the other.