Vapors and Vice

The hole in the ozone is still there.

Scientists are scratching their heads,

growing again.

It never changed our view anyway.

We caught no breeze, the barometer hovered

as it had, the particulars were all accounted for.

This is us, inside

a paneless window that doesn’t divide

out and in and even

if we were told an escape hatch had been made

none would climb up and peak,

resisting gravity

for a chance at Vertigo.

We have proven with balloons and bubbles

so much depends upon a human to wield his barrow,

display his collections,

vend his hot wares and drop his cool coins

in finite jest.

Planes and boats, both heavier than conscience

will float, but we must hold our breath.

Balls drop the same, roughly we round up

all the probabilities

and project our tiny lights towards metaphors of

eternally, outside of the time.

Separating by degree

and elevation, those that climb the walls

and those that sink their souls

in the sand, focused on forever

slipping away,

while worried about the whole.


This image or media file contains material based on a work of a National Park Service employee, created as part of that person's official duties. As a work of the U.S. federal government, such work is in the public domain.