Hurtling nearly insensate
through frigid outlaw orbits,
why suddenly interrupt
a seeming endless night's journey
to pause at this crowded, noisy mansion
ablaze with dark-devouring light -
strangely unguarded now and open
for slipping just inside an outside door
to hear the gush of dutiful chatter in praise
of yet another best-selling work of disguise,
celebrating the triumph of organized will
as proof nothing else can really exist,
no yearning yet fearing to join
if the vacuous cold of icy garments
might chill and repel their blush
of self-assuring laughter,
its softening warmth touching
shadowy threads of some ancient amnesia,
dim echoes of a lost desire reviving
to challenge eons of resignation -
confusedly lingering there....
till doorman gravity jolts awake
from his ruling solar complacency,
impatient of any intrusion
to rudely cast it out,
hurling into a sunless void,
beyond absolute zero,
another trillion years
of desolate searching.

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John Talbot Ross