all of thought is the painful
from the separation of isness
as the source.
surely there is occupancy,
a dalliance almost always on display.
this train never stops for long.
ideas get on and get off.
incomplete sentences rage.
it is an up close waterfall’s view
of images sliding by.
the experience of it all
makes the pain of it,
a full-blown way of life.
almost always in a state of reverie,
even for the real of it.
apparently I keep a scrapbook
based on recognition’s efforts
but that is all postcards
from not-there-sent-to-now
and, of course, was it ever real to start?
I had to learn the difference
between hot and cold
by bodily report from then
as it applies to now
I somehow had ventured,
somewhere from within
that there was something more than feedback.
Apparently if I wanted isness
that doesn’t come with experience as conveyance
in this current comparative-truth delivery style . . .
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