There is no place to start
 

     a beginning point

an igniting flame.

There is a Rorschach blot  

             a streaming dream of structure

a finite accomplishment; 

          surrounded by infinite reach. 

 If you start from this,

      then anything is possible.

My chest can suddenly burst open, 

       and twigs may grow.

Impossibility is an illusion.

              A repeated illustration

of what’s real;
  

         keeps infinity from shining forth.

 

 

 

Useless Poetry