corporeally contained 9/24/17

my senses have become subservient.

they feed me language-base accounts.

I get a wordy translation, naming everything,

as if I intend to spend most of time

in comparative-value terrains.

feel at a loss internally,

if I can’t name everything specifically as such.

it’s like the anxiety of a spelling bee reality ongoing.

I wanted my senses to be,

before naming came to be its ever-task,

before relevance, as a death grip, took over

and then anything else became dismissal-justified.

originally, curiosity did have a life without curtail.

then, I wasn’t living for drop-dead answers

or the stall-out of pseudos that solved anything.

standalones as recognition is a curator-life.

wanted to feel for the connectedness through all of it.

but it seems I have been handed a menu as consciousness

to order perspective from,

as a way of sensory aware with short attention spans.

this sensory overload does not exist in the truest sense

as initially, I could immerse rather than objectify.

passion is not about a rowing technique

as applied to a lake.

passion is getting into the lake

until the lake is in me.

grabbing oars is only an identity crisis made pertinent.

the lake is more metaphorically mindful than I.

and for me, as a species, that is a dam shame.

so I got safe with words in the name of everything

and subsequently I also got distanced

from my connection to it all.

I wanted the sensory as juicy but not as a drink.

sensory was to commune energetically in truth.

labeling became the shackles that lead to unaware.

now I can’t hear nonsense being spoken.

I can only relish it, in a sight for sore eyes.

I feel for something yet it is empathy contained.

atmosphere is touching me and gravity is embracing,

but I long for a more demonstrated relevance.

kiss me and I will have the makings.

hold me and I will sense a prominence occurring.

if we were born hyper-sentient but clueless, so to speak,

how come we wander,

starving in a sensory see of representation?

I have a thirst, longing for my senses to invite me.

physicality is now a method of displacement imbibed.

I feel myself disowned as my being,

as intelligence, as my saving grace, lies in wait.

animals want me to joyously play,

as all creatures are compassionate with my circumstance.

I am a lip-service disappointment to my inner self.

I am benign far beyond belief

and sensory staved to live into that aliveness.

there is an essential isness, calling from within.

maybe the material world is all of this, as capture,

and so corporeally contained,

and I want a sensory means of deeper participation,

beyond the sense of this, as self-custody . . .