The man who never alters his opinions is like standing water, and breeds reptiles of the mind.
William Blake
Folding back upon itself so tightly and compressed
That were those twists to unconstrict the globe
They would encircle
A passageway once infinite compacted like
Bones pressed between a tar pit and a glacial spill
Until what had been a structure built for movement
Now sits motionless in stone
Where else could all that power be unleashed?
You stood in what seemed a luscious field
And were incinerated in a flash
As the tunnels once conduits to transport
Now funneled into furnace blasts of ash
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