the river of the unknowable surrounds me.
it's a flash flood if I am in panic.
my senses are on high alert
as if knowledge is shortly coming my way.
the take of two explanations with fluids
and then I can relax again
into my somber as if a version of my story told.
but then, the forest of unknowables appears.
my mind is a walk in the woods.
knowing is all directions at once.
I am a linear rational,
short of understanding this.
maybe this is what anxiety is all about.
a self-dialogue as a herd of run-on sentences,
spoken as a stampede coming through me.
if my mind is just a wherewithal,
then what's the point of the constant broadcast of that?
I've been fed a constant diet of retentive-mind fuels.
I could be a racehorse of knowing,
a lab-rat of futures to be discovered,
a rational person in constituency potential,
a species of entitlement personified,
but what's with the mind-fill?
why do I have to be so separate by method
to be so hungry for closure to occur,
for oneness to be beyond self-evident?
am I just all-parachute,
with no specific gravity calling me
or just a helium blob
without any balloon containment.
and I seriously don't want answers
as a form of intelligent response . . .
No comments:
Post a Comment