I am in static-travel
of what we yet claim as speeding along,
existing in its stillness there beyond.
I have no certitude to bother with.
this space is not locational.
there is only there,
when you shut the door from here,
self consciousness is dismissed.
no memories intrude, recollections denied,
flashbacks do not occur.
there is the juice, the imbibe, the absorb.
engaged is always in fullness.
blaze, as a verb,
as if a reference, has no surface.
motion is so constant as if undistinguished.
recognition has no stand-back.
fluid is what it seems.
no certainty to consider.
separate does not exist.
immediacy is the consummate present.
future has no status, no perspective of gain,
no other awareness to bliss.
self-consciousness was excess baggage, lost.
particulars go unrendered.
breath is metaphorical.
heart is commonly beyond understood.
if experience, then of one thought,
that fully pretends.
there, as if it always was, is, and ever.
yet here, I am measured and elaborately finite.
but there, is where there, has no where . . .