The Process

I came to a definition

Of euphoria yesterday

In a momentary lightness

In my back

 

I knew

 

I carry all questions

In a cavity in

There

 

Sometimes

 

The cavity empties

 

That levity:

 

A body’s mass

Is supposed to be weighted

Flesh, bones, organs, the like.

 

Yet this

Estimated thing I

Have come to know–cavity

 

Going from dense

Clay to warm

Void in a moment

 

Gravity is acting

On it not

Known mass

 

In an instance of

Drinks in an instance

Of sex or

Being perceived as making

Sense or held or

Escaping, bending

Id-ward or helping or knowing

Truth I

 

Could drift up and fuck

Off from the prison of my

Ponderings, prostrate analogies

I could know

 

By any sense sensing what occurred

Near my body and not

 

Not know it

As I so normally don’t

 

As I’m engaged in

Parlance with a loam

Thick with askings and

Riddles regarding fairness,

Ethics, and imaginings

 

And I like it yet

The loam is

Connected to my skull and

Nourishes it the same

Way welwet does a buck’s

Antlers,

 

Causes him to become

Hewn or pointy or instinctive, able

In his maturity or

Wholly stagnant, stale, or irrelevant,

 

Waste of existence,

Miss the point?