meat

there is something compounding,
the debate between clashing
and the demand for more color.

thinking is an occupational hazard.
it is the mind that cannot be cleaned,
it is a habitat, like all meat; occupied matter

it cannot exist if its dark missionaries
are not meddled with, otherwise they simply
hold vigil until it, unassuming, is exposed
and fear pierces through, creating

we cannot make up our mind because
the mind cannot be made, it is nothing
without what survives within it, and so
nothing recognized can be without discourse.


i walk outside, all gravitating toward
self self self. the black sky juts out before me
with nothing in the way.
nothing to say- the best lesson.

it is more vast than its own reference to my matter.
it weighs this ticklish amount
and i become lucid, magnetic. aware of
the weight share of all potential positions

the self cannot remain silent
until all is or until it is gone. yet i can be used
as a comfortable constellation, fixed as any spun star-
moved only when moved by matter around me