CONFESSION ZERO

Venom approached me with a varied gait. With urgency, it waited on me to turn away, to dash innocence with my selfish tongue, to flee from Love, to charge with rage. Poison isn't bashful, it dotes on no one. It injects doubt and uncertainty with glee, its wrath constructs thick barricades made of unexplored fear and conceit. It cracked open her tender heart like a levee breaching trust. I didn’t add to its torrent. I illuminated a fresh passageway for Love, a path that curved the creed of the day and opened the gates to her pain; the flood of corpses filling with the emptiness of darkness. It’s not her fault, it's mine. She wasn’t prepared to witness the fetid water puncturing her fortress made by the weight of man’s doctrine, creeds that act as a yoke upon her habitual comfort arriving early. The idleness of sheep digging their vast caverns between inherent Love and unknown misery...

( Heavenly Wishes... ) Without shoes or worries, the children swam their laughter through the fountain that flowed with an eager pleasure; the delight for a day that wafted with their bursting wish. They seemed content, a warm and suspended satisfaction brushing against blameless limbs dangling over the rim, copper and silver grinning the hunger of expectation. We put all of our prayers into a dime, and, without a shard of want, save for the tender wishes coming true, we lobbed it down and I asked the children to make their wishes for goodness, craft them of a love for mankind, for goodness to be made known. Even the dog beamed its happy teeth in humble righteousness. Everyone laughed, as if they’d finally recognized paradise standing before them, green happiness danced of childhood, turning eyes aloft in innocent belief, hands hugging the sky, fondness puckering lips as our love's coin was mad flung to heaven. ©...

( Under the Ice, Antarctic Land Comes into Focus ) Under the ice, the arctic garden floats with abandon. I’ve found it there, pierced its sway with my beams that walk on water without so much as wonder. Is there something that I'm trying to know with a mind that remains a step behind, fluttering with discovery, heedless to counsel? The Arctic Tern with its summer girth, the Ice Worm shirking the sun, and Little Blue fairy wings hunched in a flightless parade, know that Love's in trouble as the ambitious omen weeps its red beams through the dwindling ice, probing for a solitary minute more of salvation. Is there something they're trying to say to me with their toddling passage? Am I alive enough to sense the reckoning? The beams tell me no. My love blanches at its reckless path. My greed salutes the sky with a single digit, a predatory wave growing warmer, growing under itself, sending in a brigade of warm water to...

( Eternal Love ) What am I to do with knowledge which cannot be known? And since it is unknowable, what, then, am I to remember? Am I to memorize the totality of that which is indefinite? Is imprecision even possible to imagine? To lead from the flesh or flow from the spirit? Yes. It is a choice I make. It is a howling life that I alone conjure. It is a cry of existence I mold as my own. It is a belief that’s mine to accept, a paradise to open my eyes to. My being is separate from who I imagine I am. Faith is rooted in the unknown, telling me that I cannot know anything. Thought is meant to instruct. It is not a foundation of what is, it is a foundation of what can be, and what I imagine cannot be truth. Faith is the only knowable thing, aside from the charity that swims near the ribs and waits for the feet to begin their dance. My mission stems the tide if I allow it. My mission comes without a...

( Neal Potter Design ) The eartH, the wind, the water, the tree, the sky and mountain, speak the only truth I know... The eartH is my living room, the wind is my ceiling fan, the water is salvation, the tree, a borrowed lung, the sky, a museum of art, the mountain, a fortress. I am most fortunate to not have been expelled from life’s dwelling. Just how much more time should I allow to pass before the obvious begins to shape my spine into sandstone, my love into ragged canvases painted with the things I no longer breathe? The eartH, the wind, the water, the tree, the sky and mountain speak the only truth I know… © 2011 by mark prime

( Mayfly by Bob ) Every child upon the earth feels with their spirit, mothers tell them to stay by their side, there’s less panic in proximity. They’ll learn that they cannot remain when the wind calls out to them, lifting their feet in freedom, fluttering their briefness like mayflies. They love, yet do not understand that Love is a lifelong journey that expands only after all of their suspicions sleep. Their small hands hold my sleeves as I weep for my own youth’s span that suffocated from a lifeless tongue. A thousand gallons of flesh and blood still pours over the soil as testimony, as marker for my loveless obedience. The half-love I taught only hobbled, it didn't dance or soar with charity until, from back to front, it was unwritten. I cannot bring them around with war, with anything that teaches separation. What on earth made me think I could? The scenes of battle, real or imagined...

Project Icarus: The Gas Mines of Uranus Guest contributor (Discovery News) Adam Crowl looks at the fuel required for an interstellar trip and finds a gas giant with huge mining potential. ...However, there is a surprising amount of helium-3 in the gas giant planets of the outer solar system, and in the original 1978 "Project Daedalus" report Bob Parkinson suggested mining it via floating robotic factories in the atmosphere of Jupiter. Since then a different planet has moved to the forefront of gas-mining plans because it lacks Jupiter's intense gravity, Saturn's gigantic rings of orbital debris and is closer than distant Neptune. Man’s footprint stretches deep into the forests, into the water’s depths, into the mountains, into the ground and now into outer space! Haven't my hands bled the eartH sufficiently that I need mine elsewhere for the spark? Hasn’t my rage scratched its final surface with the pale use of my wits and paws? The forests an...