just asking

 

thoughts that I had

that left the curiosity doors wide open 

yet were passed over quite thoughtlessly.

focus spent on the endpoint purpose 

of detection 

but not on the art 

of self-witness in reception.

the time-honored-ness of claiming what I see

rather than realizing the beauty 

in what is claimed.

pursuing measures 

of success as versions thereof  

but not seeing nobleness 

without any clothes.

memory as my magnification of small things

yet the present only existing 

as passively overseen.

wanting to drink wine 

beyond the pleasure of sipping

rather than toasting to moment 

with a cup-full of silence.

having conclusions at a distance 

safe enough to mumble

instead of seeing into 

what sight intimately has to offer.

been walking briskly towards 

a destination bound

but not feeling the earth 

every step of the way.

I'm asking where relentless has 

its still-point passage

before a compressed sense 

of existence gives way.

is last breath before death 

the only corridor available?

when does the impact 

of conditioning loose its appeal?

crazy without self-audience 

does not gain traction within.

sensible with guidelines 

has craziness in the closet

as the closet-mind only lives 

for self-dialogs delivered.

so I am asking what is 

an if-this-then-that world's glory

or a did-but-didn't contention's real worth?

what are the boundaries we seem to honor made of, as in

expediency, priorities, morality, 

sensibility, attention span?

not sure how prohibitive works 

in this manner.

all the complexity of these unwritten rules

to cultivate the beauty and process 

of a linear mind

as if meaning is a mirror of 

and for self reflection,

as if sanity has sidewalks and curbs 

that readily function.

I would gladly trade thoughts for feelings

and then breed and build upon feelings 

to get to spirit,

if I had to have a sense 

of direction as compelling.

otherwise the malaise of existence 

seems doldrums uneasy.

and I am sure I didn't ask 

to be a head-case of existence.

there seems to be a fog-bank 

of precipitous as if interest.

but I am asking you 

from my being to yours,

without the use of words, 

can you feel what I feel?

are we consummate of spirit 

but plaintiff of heart?

just asking, 

as if words really served 

any deep down purpose or need . . .