So That It Will Not Not Continue

Let’s talk about the subtle sentient current
underlying your volition: which watches
as and when and what you want: the secret
witness underneath your propositions: that
font of observation and reflection which
dispassionately sees and neither judges nor
agrees nor offers any contribution in the way

of what might please the clunky squealing
funky reeling fleshy apparatus up above –
which lusts and craves and hates and needs
and loves and turns a face away or toward
whatever it imagines might propel it forward
or repel it back: the creature sure its only
worthy occupation is to fill the void and feed

the lack, and make the hungry fat. Let’s look
at that. Let’s look at why you cultivate
catastrophe, though you’re aghast at it –
though you are sure the past will quickly
suck it up and dog you with it to the end of days:
let’s look at all the strange inevitable ways
that you go on, and swallow your regret,

and tenderly forget. Let’s understand that
something in you has a hand in buoying
the boat so that it will not not continue to
progress, and float. There is a thing in you,
my dear, on balance, which refuses to endear
or aggravate or do quite really anything
beyond accomplishing the miracle of being here.


.