out of ourselves

that which takes us out of ourselves,

does that have to be pain?

do we have to travel as a cathartic means?

how did a self gets so familiar-bound?

what makes self-landscape so relevant?

thought we had culture as metaphor.

thought thought was meaning bound.

and we all dressed up in it

but surely knew that we were richly nude

inside whatever apparel 

or peril we were in.

ourselves is just an un-boundaried meme.

it's a made up 

as ever reflected into the world of the surround.

'ourselves' seems to have notable and defendable limits,

as if that is a preoccupation of order.

how could we clamor for more!

for, out of ourselves.

how does experience ever become a laxative

when the ingest is expectation's call?

'ourselves' has turf in expectation's realm.

the vehicle of being can't go

where the tread does not apply.

so do we want to walk

instead if ride?

do we want to spontaneous

rather than proceed?

this isn't forest-for-the-trees

this is sky-for-the-universe.

this is sky-written fine print

that expectation's eyes can't read.

this is all pour 

but no container worth noting.

a toast without a glass,

a pledge without lip-service means,

a celebration without a cause.

to that which takes us

'out of ourselves' . . .