by its means

I have an apprehensive greed 

for next moment's thoughts.

not for the thought itself,

for that fills in as if cinema already cast,

but for the sense of its blatant intrusion.

I can't predict or know in advance,

what will make its presence known.

but it is a stampede,

well done, in tai chi fashion.

it's not like murky waters, 

draining to reveal the under.

but more like a loss of balance

and here we are then,

with what is surprisingly facing us.

for some inarticulate passage has taken place.

I don't have sufficient memory of it in its passing,

but image-wise and sound-wise, 

I missed the first word inwardly spoken

and blurred that image in its passing.

but I get the gist, 

as if like that subtle nuance check made,

to make sure I am wearing clothes.

and that my eyes,

my inward eyes, are seeing something offered, 

as if for recognition to claim.

oh, it is there, 

on the edge of that flash of a process,

that I crave, 

by what I can't capture,

but is given to me anyway.

and at my table setting of awareness,

I can bring words and sense to it,

at least for my entanglement to be justified.

it's not the flash flood happening.

but it is the debris presented

in this ongoing flood of images

and those intimate inward river sounds, 

that are taken up,

as inner conversation, 

yet very topic bound.

if the mind could salivate,

I would bring the saliva of meaningful as means.

but images fight amongst themselves,

for viewing time expanded.

I don't have the grip to hold on to them. 

they just rise and fade

as if I had the task 

of memorizing water-flow, 

passing from the tap.

I don't know how

and so I accept their passage, 

but glean the richness 

they set off in me.

I only want the life of lucid.

I make language out of it

as if I was cursing the gods 

to give me more.

at least more than I have humbleness to adore,

as interest taken, 

from my mind's eye view.

I want the death of a thought to happen,

not just for its passage 

on a speeding train of thought.

I want where thought comes from, revealed.

for what is the gimmick of thought anyways?

what deep and what wide am I after?

I want to debunk experience,

for its perusal nature of occupancy.

I want out of what thought offers 

and get beyond all the subterfuge of retention.

for what does brain really do

and why are we held so captive 

by its means? . . .