Risk 6/19/15

Risk dwells here.

Knows itself every time,

amidst the camouflage of unknowns.

Risk thrives on unfamiliarity,

wears the leathers of focus,

zipped over fullflush awareness.

Risk wants sleep's every aversion urge,

wants to take over your vacant body's lifelessness.

Risk prepares with nothing,

no coincidence nor discovery,

no recognizable reflection,

no latent expectation seeking resolution,

no cosmic dream to be verified.

Risk lets nothing you have ever thought serve you.

Risk takes nothing with you, no thoughts                           

nor past values, no safely stored emotion,

no invisible protection, no one remembering you,

no fullbodied vision in flight.

Risk leaves no reserves.

Risk is quivering before that burst in departure,

leaping into the mindfill of slow-motion images.

Risk is the future facing you down,

forcefeeding you the slip-streaming

between presumptious life that matters,

as then, and at the epitome of then, you leap.

Risk is a vacuum overflowing with no resulting glory, 

no secure landing, no safety, no stopping, no end.         

Your body makes do.

Life's whizzing by is disjointed half-thought gibberish

for your thankless contemplation to resolve.

Risk refines your rage, sharpens your focus,

taloons your anticipation, keens your being.

Risk cannot be caught.

Risk brutalizes your controlling method,

laughs at false efforts by that means.     

You fool!

Anything as skills is clutchable.

Future is denial formally fullface presenting.

You are you.

You risk.

You risk all of who you thought you were

and then you're not,

for now, the birth of new . . .