We are who are free

there are times

with some increasing frequency

it seems

when I witness myself

in reminiscence

falling back

into some desolate recognition

something akin to. . .

what do I know . . .

is . . . I don’t know

well, maybe not quite like that

but more like

an unnoticed drooling

discovered immediately

after a vacant stare

a leaving after the fact

and this is said to myself

“it sort of reminds me of. . .”

it is that moment

while right there

recovering from,

“wow, I was really,

really away . . . far away”,

that I was so relaxed

and I then succumbed

a submersion

thoroughly unknown

before hand and yet then

so fully and deeply over taken

but somehow

I am back from then

and I brought back? . . .

nothing it seems

where was I then,

and left those cushions

that I had just been leaning into . . .

just right then

I now only vacantly know

that ever so faint impression

and more so of now,

this concealment

like a curtain covering with the now

this gives me no hint

of that then as my life

that living there . . .

that I just lead

is now as gone

for I am blatantly back

into the solidarity

of this experiential prison

this flash flood

of confinement as overwhelm

pouring onto me

from full to over-flowing

and yet not the slightest flotilla

passing from then

instead I am a chattering mind-pen

of cockatiels

senselessly unaware

of their babbling’s bind

shackled by

attention’s wholesome mentality

dwarfed and diminished

by the retort naming

of everything as folly

it is a Sisyphus of existence

on a rodent’s wheel

of forward thinking

only to a moment’s turn

and then return. . .

I am somehow numb

and tongueless

coerced into the bindings

of language as strap-ons

where no words

even senseless words

words with origins of sin

do not pour forth

yet, I ever so faintly

forest-for-the-trees distinguish

what I can’t sense forthright

into image

my heart is ever so slowly ripped open

as a means of an in-my-face survival

there is also,

by some shadow of a scheme

a foreign object of profound function

lodged into my brain

that alters what gets thought

as a thinking style of ‘living around it’

not an elephant in the room

but an elephant as the room

it itself bemoans

but is in self denial

and yet talking to me

this anomaly I cannot grasp

nor grab by force

for my nerve sheaths have grown

to live around it

as if roots would swirl

to blindly accommodate

and yet below my awareness

is as a festering

that never heals but lingers on

stalwartly besieging

though not leading so directly

as to a sense of my demise

as to simplify

in this, our inward world

of this kind

there are no concepts as mirrors

no one being handily given

to these reflective means

surely there are incidentals

ripe in fractured moments

but they pass as such

for we abide

by a profound dumb-down personified

we abide

joy is then this weeping

over a nothing

claimed as something else

yet profoundly full blown and vacant

so then we claim it as a joy as such

but for me

this is as a dead end road

that meets up

with a cliff of overlooking

there to be . . . to be face to face

looking down on the belly

of a valley as they call it

but on certain clear days

once in a hundred years

kind of day

it is more a crevasse

made up of just beyonds

with no end

to perception’s inquisition

it conceivably whispers back

from just a further beyond

from that beyond

where even a whimpering

might still call out

yet there is no faint facet

of reflected light forthcoming

it has a deep space smell

but no confirmation

no taste bud of familiarity

makes a connection

no light bulb to light bulb

to second the cause

desperately,

desire appears as disemboweled

no next thought by association

wants to sit near by

everyone I now meet

after this manifestation

only resembles his or her own being

and as this projection

they appear as the slightest scar

of who they really in spirit are

in some sense of faintness

not worth the mention

for there is no deep gash

no dark convoluted wounds

nothing so misshapen

as evidence from which to infer

as an alternative to the beauty

of their identity’s claim

that they profoundly bask and assert

but there are these

enigmatic engine rooms

sources of being

that generate and compel

I deeply delve

to discover that there within

yet ever so null

and filled with void along the way

for these are low emitting muffles

coming forth

things that etheric aged elephants

could likely hear

or whales in an ocean of infinity

could concur

but nothing to my senses

direct and straight away

yet not unlike someone buried deeply

beneath an avalanche

of self personified

where the dig is as our lives are lived

for rarely are these sounds

in chorus ever heard

as connections enough

to have a sense of direction

that calls

to dig upon with urgency towards

garnished intentions

are as utensils of resolve

as the tools

that are at hand from within

they are also

a precaution short of usage

like mittens on a nail bitter

or handcuffs provided falsely

for the free climb

this is a greased pole journey

where slippery stinks

with circumstance

as now reveals

and ever impressive

is the metaphor of degradation

as if gravity is the resulting insult

of the human condition as a crime

and our full blown awareness

is as a function of IQ confinement

for myself,

there are places within my body

that reek of smells

I could no tolerate to inhale

my skin

chauffeurs my around like this

a packed deal

for there

I am an assortment of halitosis

that I could never get over

as the stench of personal discovery

but so living on as me

and yet I find for myself

confounded and redoubled

drawn from deep within

and far beyond

none of the rest of this is relevant

ever drawn

from beyond my confinement

I know this to be so

as a solace of my absentia calling

but living on

in spite of this as free fall

living on as if it is

concealed but real

and from where I leave these words

here on a page into your mind

and you have taken them up

and gone beyond

we, from there,

are the share of one

from there

we are who are free