the true nature of conclusions
is that they stack up and gather dust.
the imminently recent past is a desert,
humbled suppositions without tongues as wings
that breath can no longer torch towards flight.
decisions granulate the immediate present
into powdery residues of self as story.
what has become dust was life force,
filaments fueling the flame of the now.
everything that burned as these cognitions
is a heap, harvest-spent into memory.
that which has become mentally rendered
has forever lost its buoyancy of being.
once tethered to sensibilities pursued
that which is happening without account
is the wistful process of nonsense.
we all consciously live there
but are hardly ever at home.
when there is a knock on this nonsensical door,
answer it by greeting the absurd or the illogical.
go ahead and shoot the breeze,
but don’t kill the moment.
find this lightness of being honorable
for if you disown it as outlandish,
nonsense may never thoughtfully come back
as the fresh eyes of that moment
or as the contemplative resilience
of your being . . .
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