Drifting In the Hale-Bopp

DRIFTING IN THE HALE-BOPP The puzzle comes apart deep in the sky; calls nothing that is concrete to the mind; as far as we can tell and meets the eye the reason for the tail's not ours to find. We stand confused, and only guess at why the wonder of it all has stilled our voice did David Korish ever really die? and is it all worked out, with little choice? Mount Carmel but a coming of an age the catostrophic ending of mistake, what hope is there to ever quell the rage appeassing what is wrong, for honors sake? Is there a sign that's ever flown the sky or is it just a dream where-in we die? © ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet