beyond conviction’s stance 8/5/18

I want to live one realm wide of,

yet beyond conviction’s reach.

don’t want to be bound up 

with utterances and self-defense. 

want no need to plot or prod

nor the destiny of proof.

do not want my sixth sense to be 

the gist of containment

or the bolsters of confidence.

do not want belief to be 

my face to face response.

want for the feel of serene, 

without the sense 

of press-pass or storyline. 

hunger for a tight weave, 

as if of trampoline beneath me

and hardly ever the need 

for the downer of contact to surface.

don’t want any lip service to be the limousine 

delivering me to this land of self-conviction.

don’t crave the mirror-effect of notice either.

just want the slip-stream of being

as if of fashionable wardrobe means.

conviction, always seems like positions taken

as if from overlooks as overviews

or inner states rendered from the fear of heights

or else the high contrasts 

from postures and situations 

in desperate need of a throat-grasping response.

don’t want the use of decisions 

as if the demand is for wearing shoes

or false projecting, as in response to, 

“how’s your day?”

with the need for weight-bearing salutations 

as my conviction’s certainty as utterance.

but more so, 

I want to feel from fully afar, 

to and through

where the symphony of silence 

is always besieging me,

where realm awareness replace my memory’s stance

and harmonies are herds of riding stock

while there are choruses heard from forests 

without songbook needs

as the hum of inner unity,

where the bleed of quiet is nesting as vitality

and the French kiss of sky is in the mouth of land

and there is confounding amusement gained 

from nothing further being said

also to be where the wildfire is from blessed voids 

that are ever and always approaching

where there is the dignity of being 

before existence is its claim

finding myself farfetched, 

yet shoulder to shoulder

and nothing, no thing, 

as ever appearing as topical approaching.

I want for watercolors as my senses 

lucid in the blends and the mime,

conviction as the pursed lips

of ridgelines on mountains 

over the horizon, as out of sight,

and every thought 

as feathers of purposeful amusement 

from the embodiment of my spirit in flight,

further more, the realization that appeasement 

never had a need for life

and that understanding is ocean-speak 

for current is ever in their voice

while both the warm and the cool of togetherness

is coming from the jet-stream 

always as the brow above my sight.

give me no moment in time 

for pledging as a stance,

that expanse is always underfoot 

and that cause’s redemption 

is breaking out into horizon-wides

and that herds of conclusions and surmise 

with flaming manes of exhalations 

are articulating into wind-sweeping senseless sighs

and golden wheat-fields, 

grown up into honesty

are now facial expressions of the truth yet untold

and that these convictions 

that I speak of,

are all dressed up 

in their stay of residence

with no place further in me, 

to profess or to go . . .