when insanity is a line in the sand,
that it appears and then it disappears,
on a lonely beach in a mind.
where wave action is expressing,
as thoughts, visualize.
who drew that line?
can't ask that of oneself?
what stick,
that seems to vanish also?
this wash,
it may have been as a passing wave.
there is a vanquish and a vanity
to chasing these as after-thoughts.
what feels like mindful still-points,
seems like the loneliness of emotional somber,
weighty yet almost pointless.
earnest without purposefulness attending.
dismal, if there is a knead
to have a self-conclusion made.
but also panic has to have a room to occupy.
this is all to expansive
and yet feeling quite empty.
as if habits' beckoning,
is to walk further by this means
as on a sand-less beach.
for no one else is right there,
to greet or pass
or even to other wise . . .
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