Future Smugglers' Hideout

What lies at the bottom of Hyperion's strange craters?

No one knows.
To help find out, Cassini took this image, containing unprecedented detail, as the spacecraft swept past the sponge-textured moon in late 2005.
The image shows a remarkable world strewn with strange craters and odd surfaces.
At the bottom of most craters lies some type of unknown dark material.
Inspection of the image shows bright features indicating that the dark material might be only tens of meters thick in some places.
Hyperion is about 250 kilometers across, rotates chaotically, and has a density so low that it might house a vast system of caverns inside.

Image credit: NASA, ESA, JPL, SSI and Cassini Imaging Team

Black Rider

Dream rider carouseling,
Black horses of sleep,
For you.

For my lost far away girl,
Past rivers wide,
And swimming grasses in the wind.

On such long Fridays as this,
Working for the weekend of your life.

Think flight.
Feel the wings of your mind
And resistance to despair.

Dare to dream with me,
The black cavalry
Who stalks your subtle unconscious.

I need you,
Whomever you Turn to Be.

I breathe to try again,
Prevented by nothing,
Not death,
Not darkness,
…may my eyes create an incantation,
And find light enough in this solar system,
Among the oasis stars,
Among the washing oceans,
As they cleanse the land of all its pain.

Breathe free a breather,
Like the Dolphins driven from dry Earth.

Sleep with me.
Find the moments grown to life times
Of Searching,
Of crossing the deserts,
And always above, the sky,
The clouds hauling water through our hearts.

Know nothing,
But believe it all.

Invade my body,
You Britisher of past empire,
You refugee.

Dream with my eyes,
Dream,
Repeat,
Dream,
Repeat,
Dream,

With me…

258

There’s a certain Slant of light,
Winter Afternoons --
That oppresses, like the Heft
Of Cathedral Tunes --
Heavenly Hurt, it gives us --
We can find no scar,
But internal difference,
Where the Meanings, are --
None may teach it -- Any --
‘Tis the Seal Despair --
An imperial affliction
Sent us of the Air --
When it comes, the Landscape listens --
Shadows -- hold their breath --
When it goes, ‘tis like the Distance
On the look of Death --

-Em D.

Word!

With One Glove

Writing
With on glove
It’s cold
Writing

Some creation between irrelevance
And forever,
Like life.

Some days it’s good to be mammal,
Especially with thumbs.

And yeah,
I always cross up to the long view,
The macro sight,
The large dreams.

Using little things,
Reminding large things,
Reminding God we’re here,
And Wondering.

And yeah,
Must not we see both at once?
Are not we God after all?
Small pieces of a bachelor’s dinner,
Made quick,
Eaten with napkins,
Imperfect yet…attempting.

Always tempting ourselves
With that moment of bliss,
A small divinity
On a warm, wet world,
Spinning alone in the empty cold.

With one glove

Such Blue Blew Blowing

*Sigh... beautiful... thanks for pointing this out Tom.

...Back In The Day

...a dear friend of mine (notice I didn't say "old", Liz!)
dug this poem up, that I apparently gave to her years ago
in our watching the girls go by time, on Boulder campus...


And she looked at me,
Her eyes there moving inside me,
Looking around myself,
Dreaming into me,
As is her way,
Gently feeling about in my rolling mind
As I glance around her face,
Familiar with every smiling curve
For she is one I tell
what is seen, what would be seen
As she performs that moment
of class before, punctuating
the story of comments with
the intimate language we share.
The artful communication of
trust winked at one,
smirked at the other.

Each day we stretch for the sun,
Shifting our position, now and again,
looking for someone to watch,
maybe there’s interest, maybe not

Each day met, we come closer to
the ease we all seek in another
Living in every moment together with the love
that I can look around a little at you,
romancing the shared
under the breath
chuckle of our future.
And I offer another phase,
partial to my smile
I look at you
with the feeling that I’m drowning,
and the dying’s fine.

...

...the mirrors are clear tonight...

Under What Sun

Under what sun do I walk?
What off light bathes the world,
This unknown, unspeakable color.
What mystery’s glow has found me.

I have begun walking with my eyes closed,
And find myself,
Seeing too much,
Hearing too much,
Gazing blindly into the hearts
Of the people passing in the slush filled streets.

My eyes cast low to mind the ice underfoot,
And my spine prickling
To all the triumphs and tragedies that surround me,
Follow me, precede me.

As my dear friend, Mosaica, says,
‘My third eye wide open’.

Somehow I’ve found my way
Onto the path from Gilead to the Dark Tower,
But no Roland am I,
I carry not revolvers, but a relation,
A relativity to all of your eyes,
Your slow motion tightly held pains,
Your lives of quiet desperation
And screaming nobilities.

The Thinny is rising.
It’s eerie whining fills my ears,
And worlds meld upon this spot,
This light blown away moon,
Shattering firework of some other universe’s doom,
That assumes my shadow.

I’m not asking this penetrating experience
I call my life to stop.
My paraffin nobility serves me as it does you,
But today I am closer without X-Ray glasses.
Today I see you all,
All of you in your cocoons searching for your smile,
Your halfway flights across nations of dream
That demand to be fed
Like the mouths of your babies.

I know you all closer, closely,
Here.

Eyes close and close to an open heart.

I muse, I suppose,
And regret none of it,
And none of you I see.

I’m learning.
Learning that it isn’t the relations,
The partnerships we’ve forged and lost sight of,
But just this connection, today,
With you know who,
Who knows you dearly…

Bare my stare I beg,
And I’ll walk on silent,
Leeward with the wind,
Burning Ahab’s peg.

Cigarette Burn On The Typed Sheet

Life's an educational process.
Funny we need hardship and
Laughter.

...sure the car runs revs up,
Clean and hot,
Right wit quick...

Ltlmke talking about hangings, anti freeze,
Simple flashlights...
...Dragged her out at four in the morning
To see this owl...

Partly cloudy fantasy,
Tinged with reality.
Where is the now?

I even crawl through alleys sometimes,
Four wheel drive spoils
The weather that is handed to you.

And the dreams we have for other people,
The people we think are worth more,
And the wish and the tragedy,
The skills, it's all what you do, commonly.

Interest is possibility.
Passion without growth is impotence.

Something so stripping as early 2007...
'As,' for that's all the dear human brain can do sometimes.

'Sometimes,' such a popular word,
Encompassing all and giving nothing.

And I'm here drinking a beer,
Relieving all these compromises,
Relieving my own reality
Seeking others',
Seeking some peace
That none of us experience
Yet still feel bent to, inborn and instinctually.

I'm here,
And I see 2007 as a different Work.
Whereas the year previous consumed our inner trials,
2007 will demand recognition of outer expressions,
Realities, still shocking even after Jane's Addiction.

What can I say?
Intelligence is a measure of preparation,
Whether measured in fractions of a second,
Or decades, generations, lives
Met with Intention.

First there is intelligent action,
And then emotional evaluation,
Aftermath,
The after-realm where specifics mean less.

Of course specifics is a relative term,
Based on the timing of soccer practices
Or whether or where we are to eat this week...

...I think We'll make it.

I do.

...Founded on species bias,
Or some more hopefulness of the soul...

I can only seek to survive the pain
And harp upon the glory and the new horizon's light.

Of all of you...

This is what We do,
The best of us,
And thank god,

And quote