speech is already broken from before it is hurled
the mind over-grips crushing emotional fragrances
our sight is limited by the immediacy of recognition
my selves are dualistic shoes walking an unfamiliar road
I am on a shopping spree for more unimportant details
I think that freedom is anywhere that I have not been
I project from a very private place within me
reality is this religion without a personal confessional
but the penance persists as if guilt is ordained
I cannot see far enough forward to see myself clearly
we are all in symbolic phone booths calling out for help
I am on a shopping spree to hide from the purchase of spirit
the quicksand is that no thought penetrates this predicament
we are where a meaningful life is the pleasure of loiter
I always knew that enough was too much of neediness
what I envision, every metaphor endlessly denies
even the shelf-life of repetition is ongoing diminishment
every new thought is suffocated by thoughts from before
but know this
every lament is driven by something that is not limiting
I have a calling that is prominently unidentified
as an faceless drawnness, that is overwhelming me
it dismisses language as a downer position, personified
it has a feel that does not seek representation
I am buoyant in the heart beyond understanding’s premises
I would bleed out if truth was a conclusionary state
even as bleak is pointed out, I rise behind those accounts
every paradox gives me reason to revive from within
every predicament is a crest to take off from, to the heavens
every statement is a vehicle of release, no matter its cause
the deep dark systemic is about everything
and self-consciousness is an enigma perspective
where solipsism exists as divination
in this reality hologram
generated from the mechanics
and dynamics of human isolation,
there are those who yearn to live for
when consciousness is not this content-bound . . .
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