give up the know to be

the awareness of life, as it registers,

is the immediacies of the recent impressing.

art recognized is another dimension,

calling out, gasping for the breath of spirit

to save oneself from the onslaught, informing.

one can have a view of this view

and call it philosophical or psychological, 

dependent on the immediacy of a need-response.

it all plays as the in-depths

that experience offers. 

and where it commonly resides,

there is a voice behind the normative,

a voice that articulates some other dimension,

a view beyond where conclusions go,

a part of being

that does not rightfully fit in

or recognize the whole of self out of living.

it gets the act-outs taken to be real

but premises that, 

for all of the surface of life.

there are currents that travel with poignancy, 

that do not take stands or reality pose.

they offer insight and depth of feel

but do not and will not interfere

or override the apparent-ices 

from the onslaught of circumstance.

it's always dimensions added 

and never the business of override,

as if a softer voice spoken clearly

but not commanding attention,

just offered.

how many times every day does this happen?

cues missed by sensory habit's feed

and our awareness functioning in automatic.

my eyes serve two masters.

and yet, I only have eyes 

that feed the momentum of commentary. 

yet, I am aware that they see 

in a different time-dimension.

in a normal sense, I would have to say

that they pre-see.

they hunt at what is coming.

they work for a part of me

in full guidance that I habitually ignore.

we go our separate ways 

and yet are, one-in-the-same.

I wanted a sentience to occur,

but I plead with denial as my means.

I wanted insight to assist

but I ramble past the views.

I wanted the insistence of stillness

but I plead that boredom has come.

so where is the when I long for?

how can I ask of myself,

by means of righteous denial's plead?

if I have a sense of witness, self-witness,

how can I get behind all of that,

when I am wildly conditioned 

to be up front and fully occupied?

it feels like I am a single flashlight,

no matter how bright,

but in a vastly larger room,

then coming and going takes me.

I only have a sense of direction for going.

I don't truly sense the embodiment

or the means of embrace for that.

I identify with the mass of me

and the form of the act-out.

I don't get the presence of me, really.

I get the presence of others,

but somehow that plays.

but I don't have a concept 

for how or what to say.

I just get the fumbling and the wrangling,

and the supposedly moral 

and the sense of self as a projection.

but beyond that,

it is vast 

and to me, apparently vacant.

if proof is my means,

then I live in the ever unfolding denial.

I can't say I know better.

but I do have a sense 

that does not relinquish this feel.

it includes the spirit of me

beyond the evident 

and the subsequent act-out.

I live for that to come forth,

to become second nature 

to each moment in passing.

to be the presence of me, I recognize, 

beyond circumstance and conditioning

and the incessancy of habits into the unconscious.

I want for that, 

out of the here and now.

I would even give up wanting

for that to become so,

even to give up the know, 

to be . . .