The sacredness of one's thoughts.
The colors of Indian Summer are still
far off, yet I felt a chill today when
you told me you could get into
my head, when you told me
you could get into my mind,
when you said you could
access my thoughts.
I must have missed the day
when Spock’s, “Mind Meld”
was granted you, or perhaps
I simply underestimated your
On second thought, I think I will
stick to my heartfelt conviction;
to wit, my thoughts are mine—
I do not recognize your power
of woo. No sir, I don’t accept
your ability to mind-surf.
This is sometimes a waterfall
of presumption; it is off-color
rude, to be sure.
Glitters it does not.
I know we do not agree on theological
issues, but I would not be so bold
to say you really don’t believe
what you say you believe.
Reality is an Andes mountain peak;
it can be seen, felt, and it is available
for laboratory testing. But the
thoughts in one’s head are an
ark in a Fort Knox vault,
and entry is prohibited.
—colours of Indian Summer
—Andes mountain peak