meow of now

if I live to find words

then I am already

missing the point

 

if I live for the pointedness

then I have removed myself

from the now

 

this now

that I live as noticed

precludes my presence in it

 

that I live as observance

well it is not my business

. . . that I live is

 

my shorelines

are filled with awareness

taking me away from that now

 

my surfaces of interaction

are self-delusions of concern

away from the now

 

embodiment itself as realized

is a distraction easily embraced

 

each of these as dalliances

makes now a smaller possibility

 

what     now is this?

 

no words leave clues

for words are my soft suicide

lived as hard acts

away from the now

 

for all of words

as bowls of warm milk

starve the kittens they feed

from their meow of now

 

now has no shelf life

for in a memorizing world

there are no post-its

to take you back

recognition becomes

so speechless and tongueless

in the operatic surrender

through the now

 

for this now . . .

experience is not the payoff

but the exhaust