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Discovering the terminal horizon

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  The Terminal Horizon Tourist Bus Discovering the Terminal Horizon The Long Highway Out here, the world ends not in silence, but in fire. The asphalt bleeds into cracked red earth, stretching toward a bruised horizon where the sky refuses to cool. Behind the glass, you drive chasing ghosts through a desert that forgot rain a lifetime ago. Beneath the Scorch Every road leads deeper into the furnace. Even below the surface, the rock fissures and weeps, hot steam rising through subterranean fractures where molten veins pulse in the dark, feeding an ancient, unforgiving heat. Broken Arteries What we built couldn’t hold. Rails twist into the dunes, swallowed by iron sand and wind. Bridges split down the seam, concrete splintered into raw bone, tangled rebar, and dying wires crackling into the smoke. The machines stopped; the wasteland stayed. The Last Horizon And when the road finally runs out, there is only the ash, the petrified stumps, and the quiet. You are a lone figure sitting in...
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Celeste Dysfunction

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When finally the dysfunction is realized I can relax
I knew it wasn't me even though I thought it was me
Such relief
It could not have been me
I would not have done that
In childhood and in adulthood that could not have been me
Astonished I gasped at all aspect that identikit me
No matter what your accusations be it was not me

So without hesitation, I sought mutual agreement
A third point
In order to displace self-accusation
To the wave on the horizon
Away from the imposter me
Far away and off-shore and outsourced
Separation

The appearance
The identity
The division of function

I am not to blame for the character you saw of me
Your perceptions
Your analysis
Your transference
I may dominate your emotional recognition
I may feel in the scope of the known
I look at you knowing that you think I am you
But what you are is not me





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