But a triangular
box of words
Stuck to ply wood.
My story lines,
my story lines of
Meaning’s search
My search for meaning
in this last third
Of my living and dying.
What is this feeling,
What is this madness
Falling in on me?
Who are these floating ghosts
These gentler souls?
These ghouls of happiness
Of listening gentle joy?
What is this avalanche of words
This waterfall of never ending
Words of shouldness but
my
Inherited
Precious
Way …?
Collect
Do
know
Buy
Collect
Do
Know
Buy
Collect
Do
Know
Buy
Shout it from the tree tops
And make this your living
This tyranny of oughts.
This avalanche of no escape.
But
here now
Right now in this place
I lay this down
I lay this down
this preaching teaching telling mode.
I lay it down
To go with these gentler angels.
Into their caresses
Into the vacuum of their silence
Into the journey of my discovered
Path.
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