the innermost

the search for the innermost, 

as the perusal beyond the erotic, 

as the nameless impulses, 

that seamlessly flash by,

yet the suddenness,

of appearance without birth.

this is where recognition struggles 

to vocalize

and even pronounce of itself.

is this the breeze of feeling, 

before the mind declares?

it's where words come 

to be part of the prop-fest,

as if to go within.

it's where you are nameless to yourself,

for you have no narrative in self defense.

how did I get here, registers.

there is an undeniableness presence

and account is a suspect situation to unfold.

all of this, 

in the search for the innermost.

time-gravity has no measure there.

it is made evident 

by un-displaceable's presence.

'thought is' would come 

in the form of answers.

but it does not register in that way.

almost a world inside a world unto itself.

but then not,

because you are there in wonder.

no one is not searching for the innermost.

yet if done consciously, 

that then is something else, altogether.

maybe recognition has to be re-conceived.

traveling to there 

started with too many external props,

too much the deliverance 

of expectation's want,

but not enough of depth without restraint.

maybe the innermost 

is just a moment in time,

a pivotal in life's apparent journey,

yet that which still reaches 

for the impact of words, 

inwardly heard in unforgettable tones.

if innermost had a frequency,

could we all basically come to attend?

if it were a seasoning, 

what is this diet of mind?

am I looking to time-measure 

or just go with depth of feel?

innermost seems almost other-worldly, 

yet also deeply at home,

almost like 

a familiar dream-world neighborhood.

it is so prop-less to first adventure.

it's more of strip-down than take-on.

don't really want to have it as a shrine,

just contemplative access, 

on a daily basis,

as a dimensional sense 

of being, ongoing,

where innermost has actually become

the breath of me . . .