of what heart is to begin with, intact, there is no love in such a heart to govern the cruelty of flux, for love only aspires in fragmentation pf that *****, readied for nothing metaphysical, yet only the physicality of the muscular... love enters when the heart is garment in fractions and nowhere and by no-how does it exist... if love is not a search, then love is no love at all... for love akin to god, there is no clear direction, no definite coordinate, no (a) to (b) basis, or subsequent exfoliation into some sort of basics... away from my country of birth, i only found love within the existence of scotland... and by that quest for "demise" i forfeit an ask for glasgow to forgive me, my idle friendships with stereotypes of alarm... rest abididing by edinbrugh... as i might say: for every glasgow there's a birmingham, as there's a london for every edinburgh... in no other town have i felt the over-powering grasp of stereotype; forgive me.*

don't climb a mountain,
if you can't speak
to the mountain: prior
to an attempted climb
   of it,
     never seak what you cannot
contain with your own
worth of grip with the hands...
never ask the mountain
to become a hill you
can exectute a promenade
over... and serve such
effort the lingo of: complete.
never ask the mountain for
a name,
       instead ask it to name
an ocean...
            never ask
the ocean for a mountain's name,
instead a name
of a valley,
   a glen coe and its massacre,
or the grand canyon...
               and all the many
crevices upon the human
body with its skeletal
                           blanks and
empty spaces of fleshy folds...
            never ask the mountain
its name...
         reach the peak,
and then ask yourself
  the name you were bestooed with!
ask yourself the name
  you ingested as a child...
when climbing a mountain,
never ask for the mountain's name...
once you reached the tip
ask yourself, what your name
is or rather, ought to be...
                and what would the mountain
name you, as a mother or a father
already have...
          never mind to name
a mountain, as if it might be exclaiming
a righteous conquest...
                 name yourself prior
as a baptism,
   and then name yourself post-
  as a "catholicism"
            of the rite of confirmation...
whatever name you think of
climbing down,
  is the name of the mountain you
have just "conquered"...
                     for each man to
have reached the ever-reach of man's
final end,
   if there are equals to astronauts
who reach the lunar orb,
   there are those, grounded,
medium grounds between astronauts
and astronomers...
          those who seek the eagles' eye,
aloof, upon the himalayan titan's cranium,
and by god,
        that's halfway toward the stars.