Right angles obstruct.
And we survive by following the lines.
Rulers make lines,
High rise and street signs,
And we survive by maintaining order.
Defined by steel skeletons,
Mirrored windows for skin,
The sky-hiders bear their clenched teeth
With a grin.
Outside the window, traffic beats the drum,
As the gravity of a city presses its thumb.
And we survive by pressing back.
From beneath, a bellowing rage,
From within, I emerge from a cage,
Those right angles. Can. Blur.
These are more than mountains...
Glowing golden horizon escape,
Sunrise and set define the shape,
And we survive by simply being.
Atmosphere delicate; savage,
Hospital to the mentally ravaged,
A bed for bird, bear and brother.
Solitary as synagogue,
Serene as silent sanctuary,
Divinely orchestrated symphony.
More than meditation,
These are more than mountains.
— Jeremy Collins