what I can't sing, hums me

what I see in the mirror of looking out,

it's not the sight so search-wise claimed,

but the means of looking that is so nuanced,

that the philosophy of sensing is brought to mind.

that I be so separate from,

as if seeing saves me from my sense of isolation,

that sight indoctrinates as quite distance from,

with every view further confirming

to live in the imprisonment of know,

and go no, know further.

what did I want from sensory to begin with?

it can never immerse beyond align, 

but only confirm or affirm as objectified.

all my senses are but white canes of experiential usage.

I feel shallow in that way of occupancy.

even in deep cognitive water,

I trial with fear as a method of guidance,

principles of separate from that are taken as biblical,

endearing as being only but close to.

sensory, with all its intent,

can only acutely summarized,

at best sensory encapsulates.

to me, separate from is not the homeland.

experience is mindful interest in life as travelog. 

why the need to be a 'you are here',

'separate from' is a form of living victimization. 

being should not be that drama eternalized.

I make for a language where all sing.

and all sing sung is a constant.

many tunes, yet simultaneously, 

in broad-range mass-form-based serenade.

time inventing the listening, 

as if so called evocative in nature.

if that is so, then I am all ears singing.

and what I can't sing hums me . . .