the life of think

think is a resonator of consciousness, 

thought is the aftermath of self-conscious. 

and we, in our sidedness,

live for think to take us up.

but we are living our lives in thought about.

like siamese twins that share the same heart,

one earthbound, the other heavenly.

reality casts one as prominently evident,

while the other is soulful but illusive.

one heart, soak-standing in a mud-bog,

crying out for a cloudburst-cleansing.

wanderlust searching for wonderland.

think, pure in its vastness,

before thought becomes 

burdensome retention

and snares the evocative 

into substantiation.

trophies as a reality context 

with memorables,

burdens the slipstream with solipsistics. 

all the while, think is dodging time intervals,

ad-libbing thought material 

for cognitive consumption.

there seems to be a constant knock 

at the reality door.

we all seem to live 

on the receivership side of it.

thinks seems to exists for us as an outcast,

unless there is an eventual product in mind.

we have that think is a worker bee of being.

and we're all about the honey,

not the queen, not the hive,

not even about the seasons of the year.

even if we comprehended hivemind,

would we ever enter into a mindstate

beyond our yearnings, callings, 

and apparent needs?

to where think is a resonator 

of consciousness, 

and thought, our thought 

is the subsequent experiential aftermath . . .