I have a mountaineer mentality
and developed climbing skills
as if as a method to levitate.
I run as fast as I possibly can
for as long as I can,
as if giving me a permission towards flight.
I have a sense of self
as if it is an eyesore
on a much larger being.
I have a context
as if the feel of prison bars
that withhold me
from a sense of personal freedom.
language is the prison clothes I wear.
conclusion is the major crime I committed.
I identify my heart as boundary-less
and that is forever puzzling to the rest of me.
time is shoelaces I wear
that never seem tied
and space is junk-food as part of my memory.
I have gravity as a religion
that weighs upon me for my sins.
thought is just postcards of the past
sent to me by myself,
and the void is beyond
my lip-service to attend.
there is a constant arrival
of the forsakenness of tears.
they come from beyond
what meaning can justify.
I linger in a wholeness
that there is a lucid absence there of.
love is a continuum
in which I only sense
aspects within it.
I am only complete silence
in the arms of others,
feeling past their circumstance,
communing,
where we are one . . .
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