coming to my senses 7/1/19

when ‘coming to my senses’

is those parts of me

who have been mainlining 

on experience

using the pinnacles of exaltation 

as the fence line of insistence

demanding grandeur to be

still a front row upper-box seat

for sensing to be of service 

indulging in an audience perspective

as if this is an aerodynamic design for living 

based on the biases of justification

which is far worse 

than any other reality-text of existence 

far worse than the dynamics of thermals

as weather constantly is featuring in our faces

yes we are of compositional dependency

we have a language of pictorial animation

that is tempo-wise out of sync 

and even eventually out of frame 

we have a racism 

based on temporal speed

that faster is better

with more efficiency implored 

there to live, 

nested in decisions’ consequences

only then to become conscientious curators 

and maintenance maniacals

holding fast and furiously so

to retentive mind-fulls that bind

how much of life is over-grip in this manner?

do we ever yearn for tighter anuses 

and looser morals as a productive process 

to more vastly come to discern?

maybe sensory is not the criminal

as to whom they then report

why brain, why?

so seduced into descriptive and pictorials.

so much the versions that bystanders hold.

experience is overrated in the grossest sense.

I want paper cuts from turning the page

more than I want comprehension’s ascension.

I want wind as my ally

trees that smile back in their wisdom

earth unpilfered by human annoyances

sky with a hammocks of clouds

talking amongst themselves

as eavesdrop would provide for me.

no contention of highs versus lows

no media of vexes presenting

hardly thought vying for my attention

I want a sense of me

way before

coming to my senses . . .