Addicted to the meta-questioning

The beckoning

as if a silent scream.

The murmur . . .

beholding a whisper.

The bellow

beneath a muffled yowl.

The shrill

buried within a distant roar.

The shriek

igniting the source of a howl.

The solicitation coming on

as a subterranean summons,

always the invitation

back into the drawn-ness.

The reckoning with everything

turning into a call.

This portend

spells a prophecy . . .

You’re addicted

to the meta-questioning.

The lure of a frame

just outside of your focus.

The shared residence of spirit

behind the personifications.

The ‘why animals generally know

before we do’.

The secreted

subtle internal environment

for inner voices to speak.

The draw of a shadow

beyond the projector’s bright.

The deducible alignment

launching chaos’s maul.

The vast vacancy

that understanding

ultimately refills.

The always unsaid

motivational driver

yet to be revealed.

The basking at the scene

without interpretation’s filters.

The ‘forest for the trees’

mock-challenging how I see.

The child essence of a person

in character projecting.

The vagrant life of clichés

as if they lived on in the mind.

The why of habit

proposing unconsciousness

as efficient.

The shaping of words

that I know not

what I am saying.

The astral field’s broadcast

before the medical applies.

The flood of imaging

without a reference or setting.

These as Meta questions,

strangers yet friendly,

stalking by standing still,

inviting with indifference,

irresistible as breath,

and breathing on . . .