this moment has no keeping to it.
the impress is all unending embrace.
memory is purposeless in its efforts.
the stream of consciousness is ever the flow,
therefore this of wetness has no retention.
viscosity is the embodiment in its passing,
ever so newly ordained,
beyond the capacity for retention to notice.
experience is only the pretense
of a hygienic wrapper of containment.
all of consumption is
conversely, radiance outpouring,
for the physical
leaving its manifested state to be,
yet with sensory attempting to tag along
in fanciful memories,
as this as clutter becomes debris.
this is an intimacy so close at hand
as to exist as a oneness,
leaving the notion of separate and aligned.
even 'moment', in its attempt to steadfast measure,
has only the remnants of imposing time
as a wardrobe of fashion for that of mindfulness.
yet unnecessary to be worn,
when time has no eyes,
and space has no occupancy.
and we,
'is', as a oneness without measure
or need of experiential decree . . .
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