meaning starves me,
every conclusion I make,
no matter the circus for thought that's done.
the last line inwardly said about it
is death,
not dead,
but done-with,
out of frame,
back on the thirst.
maybe next slide please.
fixation is like that to my mind.
all topics are teases to start with
but meaning to memory
is bad hearsay to be remembered,
when talk is accessorizing.
there is nothing keen to the mind
without emotion sourced and clinging.
I don't want fresh popcorn thoughts
without emotional butter and soulful salt.
after a full day of meaning,
what is there left by nightfall?
jabber and murmurs try to tuck me in.
I need emotions that blanket and pillow,
rest assured that come from connectedness
as the feel of long, lean, engulfed, and tipsy.
something meaningful would mouth,
but lacks the sincere lips
and breath of delivery.
yes, the web-weave, behind meaning
in the making as ongoing,
can be a kind of oneness.
can that,
as a fallback awareness
be ever on hand? . . .
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