Vaunted tunnels lie within our night
the vaulted havens of our mortal sight
through and through
tried and true
fast tracks into
the biblical transcendence.
By flood or fire,
we drown beside the pyre
some half-hearted (but well-meaning) suit struck
with the force of a 49er’s luck–
mining, mining, always grinding
for that sweet and supple pining
that we had to carve up words to make it burn–
a terrifying notion for all to learn
you drive too fast, you dig too deep;
little Timmy’s gonna find a well he just can’t leap.