the what appears to be
chasing after a something
so completely abstract-concrete
with one paradoxical thought after another
dissolving this one thought into the next
yet no fabric gained brought home to rest
the swim in an ocean of creation
that only replenishes itself
as if time is the liquid
and self is the dissolve
it is a viscosity without substantive means
a cohesive without moderation or restraint
that ordains by its pull
yielding to nothing of evidence
but the draw avoids evidential proof
there is no command performance forthcoming
humbly, if there is a we of us
we are advancing towards
what we would call the all of it
without the possibility of proof
witness, consensual agreement
or an objectifiable context
we lamely can throw concepts at it
make it an itness for our convenience to remark
we have substantial muttering
but no dialogue, no agreement yet assigned
the tie-downs of details do not exist
the slop of logic or deductions are without menu
the basic first-person case
appears to be babbling
a cell phone conversation with the unimaginable
yet without props and apparently one-sided
as if the appearance of dialogue
what could I mean?
so just forget I said anything
and carry on . . .
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