knock knock

there is a welcome mat 

in front of every thought

and a door jam 

behind every mindful-entry opening.

quicksand lives inside 

of each and every answer.

and so I swim with my eyes, 

before I step with my feet.

I only watch the parade of life 

reflected in and off of the audience's eyes.

celebration is clearly so after the fact.

therefore I would die in the electric chair 

to be earnest before the current 

is actually turned on.

some people that I personally know, 

have smug as furniture in their mind room

and they can't imagine 

living in a two story life.

look, every suicide note should begin with, 

"why bother dying": 

pleased to continue to enumerate, 

until the voice of one's spirit 

is self-recognized.

hey, I like opening the backdoor 

for eavesdrop-think

and using the front-door 

for welcome-mat thoughts.

knock knock, are you there?

can I come in? . . .