Would it be possible
to live within a perfect ball
that was not CREATED?
So what makes living on
a perfect ball so much
less miraculous?
why is there a horizon line
out front, from 'outer ' space?
why is it impossible to make a scale
map of the sun and earth?
how does a spinning wet tennis ball
not succumb to centrifugal force?
My poetic mind looks at science and doubts,
my right mind says the left is stoned
and vice a versa
who's right?
who's left?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem