my thinks my knows

I

I think a thing I do a thing

no one to it - entitled 

unseen unknown

no proof of presence 

footprint in the sand

did I think it did I do it

if no proof came forth 

11

my thinks my knows

filling hours shared with hair

shook from four legs 

breathless my heart 

swells for pitter-patter

in still corners cooled

humming lulls lightly 

little paws kneading 

in slumber she runs free

III

the tether tied to whence 

I came is whence I’ll return 

take me to your river 

I wanna go home 

sing, sing a song, sing it out

haters here haters there

hating hate-hate haters everywhere 

hating you hating me

what we think is what we’ll be

happy in the white space unseen

holding space 

for others

in their heartlight

gloriously unfolding 

into a gray medium 

of existence 

without announcement 

happy in the white space 

unseen 

Shaka, the walls fall

at fifty-3 I shredded

decades 

of journals and files, taxes 

burdens weighting-mooring 

opting for impermanence

space between landscapes widening 

divides

eye-off any prize save life

I tried-try to root but couldn’t settle 

at fifty-6 I shred

longing 

for where my blood lay in ether 

morning lulls

I-a

flailing in the figuring 

on my own in the quiet 

reaching for the buoys

I found I could float 

but can’t really swim 

II - segue 

cutting chords 

on glass tables 

I consume the sings 

a high slow and low 

 I-b 

nevertheless in the stillness 

of the quiet I calm

and inhale deep the bright 

through eyes wide shut 

I do not want: I do not need

where existing is a chore

the daily go-about devolves

make no sound

do not move  

the fucking fuck

fuckers will notice

then you’ll get it…

something to really cry about