Enough, philosophy… the mind can only make so much, take so much, break so much, ache so much, fake so much— a lake of such
I want to touch, lush, lust, fuss, bust, cuss, rust, sussss
Though, it change as much
Each moment day; leaky brains drip, skip
scatter, dust
like us
I must, though free as empty space to appear as such
everything is here
I, seer
Light is nothing
nothing is just
all this
hanging in the airs
put out a hand which was not there
eye wants
it create itself from the shadows of dreams
waving blinks, reams
folds of curved, new nerves
eyes of water
cry, smile, relearn
Water… which is not water
Still… this, which is not truly fire

Published by Tom Lopes