to live is

to live is,

so much the prejudice of solids,

is the sensory respect for the standalones.

gossip about motion is all the time.

am in a crowd of gravities,

but really only sense indulged in one.

if curvature is talking to me,

I am only really hearing 

the triumph of straight lines.

at least surface is ever the broadcast,

yet not sure of whom they are all speaking for.

how solids experience any sense of freedom

is truly baffling to my mind.

and language working on preciseness

is a free-for-all in a catch-as-can kind of way.

the laws for sound's unbounding loudness

have yet to be discovered.

nature is way more observant than we are.

we have superficiality as our deem of order.

what mind of ours 

wasn't properly trained that way?

I have two categories,

moving and standing still.

but I deeply know there is only one.

and it's either stillness in motion

or everything is still,

when I am my observational stance.

but some of it is too fine for me to sense.

I've discovered that I rely on my senses too much,

and that what I think is a pinhole of reality's text.

well, okay, reality is also a fabrication, 

I seem to wear

and living is always a race,

without a clarity of rules.

where my livingness is outracing my dying.

until it's not,

and otherwise,

I am just along for the ride . . .