The folds and canyons,
wrinkles of thinking grey
matter sitting silent waiting
encased, cradled, held &
protected from ourselves,
from a world confusing, a
time rotating us further and
farther toward an end that
those folds only imagine.

We don’t know we can’t
know looking, yeah looking
into our thoughts dreams
middle living wayward small
bits of thinking we’re anything
but confusing ourselves if
we think at all watching the
spinning of our lives, the
unfolding our brains can’t do

When that tiny inkling that
rare habit arises surfaces
breaks the line between here
and now, between then and
all the endings we’ve lost, in
that small moment of reflection
that gesture that hesitation
of wanting of meaning of
negotiation we believe

Our brain exists in semi-solid
tranquility unaware inside
calcium backed stacked always
attached with servitude we
believe because we believe
we see because we see
only what we know are can be
sitting in that shadow of
knowing not knowing

All inside the outside of what
we’ve ever thought…stumbling
small steps/small notes sliding
across somnambulant humid
heavy and waiting air it is more
than we know can take but our
brain does and does and does
like we know that it does, again
and again

and again.

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