If I hold what I think 1/28/15

If I hold what I think . . .

that does not embrace me.

If what I think, at that moment,

opens the floodgates within me,

then think has served me well.

My think should serve to embody me

from where I have had no knowledge before,

but when this occurs,

the light-up of my being

is everything I have ever wanted from think.

Even and foremost as a child,

this is what I wanted think to do.

So how, over time, think did began to serve

a different master within me.

I am ashamed to be in its likeness at times.

It has come to favor version over vision.

And I, as a child, wanted flight not story.

Think has become a prosthesis of mine.

No one seems to objectify me for it,

for they are themselves, much the same.

Are we all on a cruise so massive

that railings and shorelines don’t really exist?

I think I wanted the understanding of matrix

to mean maturity of think

not just meaning of itself.

Think that lights me up is from fire within me.

Why am I then so conscientious molten as life?

Who is it of me who steals from my think

to makeup this fabric that I then live into?

I don’t want a costume or a jumpsuit

or proper apparel for occasions of further submission.

I want to sleep in the garden and grow with the plants.

I want the choir from soil to compel me into life

like plants do for themselves.

Maybe I should be sorry to say,

but I want contentless thinking

to lead me to joyless joy.

I don’t always want think wrapped in meaning.

I want think before security of knowing is the rapture.

I want the think that is the risk of every breath anew.

I want the think that formulates me, not me it.

The drawnness lives in me and I am suspect

that it fights with think to give me a life.

Drawnness existed in me before I had words.

I feel like I am a life of post-its

and then more as replacements.

The psychology of me is only in traits.

I want the isness through me and conscious.

If I hold what I truly think . . .

that does essentially embrace me . . .