the inner here

senses in the dark, 

more like a dimensional void,

no see, no touch, 

no hearing from attempts to listen,

no input of any kind.

what to do with expectation,

with any form of anticipatory,

when there is a loss of a boundary sense?

recognition is stale breath exiting.

inner dialogue wants to go on, 

registered as loud caps.

comparative truth is either out of ink or paper.

can't say for sure, 

if this is lack of sunlight-dark

or after I died-dark.

the use of meaning 

is starting to fray at the edges.

I have never felt resolute,

so much like this before.

I am too intrigued 

to chase after the futility of panic.

whatever there is, 

is doing me 

and I have a cogency about it.

not very sure about application or carriage.

all the handrails of a now are not presenting.

it's sort of a free-fall 

without moving parts.

don't feel stalled 

or otherwise impeded, 

just vast in an intimate sort of way.

like everything is unidentifiably close at hand,

yet no sense of reach or gather, 

or even embrace.

bodily as a sense seems vacant for usage.

not flying, no tall precipices lingering near by.

actually no right-left or really up-down

orientation is not coming to me,

just the mild sense of expansion.

yes, expansion, now my mind-sense of time.

temperature wanted to start up a conversation,

but I was not really interested.

still trying to have a self-dialogue about space

or better yet, the feel.

yes, the feel of occupancy,

yet no sense of ground-figure.

all I really have is the handrail of words

coming from somewhere within.

I feel blessed,

but don't really have experience to prove it.

I vaguely sense 

that this state has always been here,

within me or what I call a me.

I spent most of my life looking past it.

and yes, I did see or have seen this,

but always looked past it,

or got no impact of registry.

and now, assuming a now,

here it is or I am.

and between you and me,

amazingly, we are . . .