can I just say

ashes don't rise by smiling.

something by its own nature,

has but taken joyous leave.

gleam doesn't exist as an afterthought.

wilt could be sensed as a self embrace.

what if I look out of my eyes

to expressed rather than see?

what if I am lonely 

in a sense of self as boundaries?

there is no thought 

that singularly takes me to embodiment.

sometimes feel has no dimensional containment.

if I think I have answers,

then a form of timeless arthritis exists.

I only make sense

as revelation and not as understanding.

all of my sense of hurt 

is in a free-fall of self-judgment.

experience is such a suffocating sense of distraction,

as such a movie of audience acknowledgment. 

I want where a drop of water reenters the ocean

and a oneness immediately and fluidly occurs.

if there is an intelligence of worth,

the philosophy of water applies.

to be ice, then liquid, 

then water-evaporative, 

then into the deliverance of snow, hail or rain

is to be of a wisdom before any form taken.

the question why only has itself to blame.

how only has a mindset of deliverance.

when is/was an invented myth-full premise

of that which like color,

only exists in the mind of the beholder.

all of speech spoken is a form of cursing.

can I just say?

language itself is insolent by nature,

a form of blaspheme, 

done in a framing style.

we are all flashlights on,

in dark rooms,

calling it life, 

as an adventure . . .