I am the sight from feel,
willing my existence,
enough for me to wade in
beyond the experience of satisfaction.
for me to go
beyond the bamboo foresting of conclusions,
to be beyond nature
reveling in humanness,
beyond the metric tons
of outcomes' biddings,
beyond the helium of curiosity's concerns,
beyond where weight
has gravity's approval.
for me to be
beyond any circumstance
as shortness of breath,
beyond the falsehood
of intimacy as inquiries,
beyond where topsy turvy is in
a celestial embrace.
and then to go beyond
where the sound current is used
to pass secrets,
to where deliverance has no past memories in reveal,
to eventually go beyond
where beck and call believe and behold,
to go beyond where all sharpened pencils,
in deliverance, go to die,
to come to realize
how the earth is a doorstop for what (?),
to breath in the eternal breathe
beyond the panting of how we understand,
to be successfully recovered
from the syndrome of time
and to then be rescued from the psychosis
of any here-to-a-there,
and to formally exist in a presence
that has no spare parts,
and then to become an educator
to the wisdom
that is taught to all of liquidity,
to humorously play leap-frog
in a continuum of singularity,
to dabble at constancy
and to drool absentmindedly
in the face of paradox,
and for me to come to a place
where sadness sat for centuries
abandoned and alone,
to enter into a place
where consternations were the parents
of wherewithal,
where all images eventually come
to be a singular pointed glowing star,
where ask is ever the embrace
and answers exist freely without cause,
as if I am eternally allowed
to question far too much,
knowing that all my words are prayers.
that understanding is the use of my breath,
that inquiry is my search for soul,
and all answers are white doves
filling a cloudless sky,
and all of my laments are realized
as queries,
for devotion is the only language
I have a native tongue to speak . . .
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