if I live to find words
then I am already
missing the point
if I live for the pointedness
then I have removed myself
from the now
this now
that I live as noticed
precludes my presence in it
that I live as observance
well it is not my business
. . . that I live is
my shorelines
are filled with awareness
taking me away from that now
my surfaces of interaction
are self-delusions of concern
away from the now
embodiment itself as realized
is a distraction easily embraced
each of these as dalliances
makes now a smaller possibility
what now is this?
no words leave clues
for words are my soft suicide
lived as hard acts
away from the now
for all of words
as bowls of warm milk
starve the kittens they feed
from their meow of now
now has no shelf life
for in a memorizing world
there are no post-its
to take you back
recognition becomes
so speechless and tongueless
in the operatic surrender
through the now
for this now . . .
experience is not the payoff
but the exhaust
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