I come to softly find myself high up
in a silent hush of swaying trees,
holding on to me,
vacantly looking out,
before anything triggers my mind,
such as a name, an intend-to,
or a memory, might do.
love this emptiness
but can’t embrace it back.
there is such a wholeness with the unknown.
tethered to task will soon approach,
there is this intruding sense of a gun
pointing at me
from somewhere to the back of my thoughts.
it’s like a restless leg syndrome of the mind.
I live it alive
as if for imperative considerations.
statements to myself are as these
but murmured directives.
there is a hardliner inside of me here,
professing to be me.
it’s not the only one in there
but the most dominating.
for then I get self-talked down to life,
easily it seems.
oh but I love that forest sense of myself,
that visual inhalation is precious as me . . .