as if the mind's function is to manufacture confusion
embedded as it is in chaotic multiplicity yielding nothing
to analysis but systems too vast or tiny to make sense
there is no sense no underlying fact but floating specks
each pointlessly distinct shimmering in cosmic waves
words work well to increase distractedness dress illusion
in forms as if revelation just out of sight will yield to play
as if thinking better makes a difference even at rest we
can't stop generating dreams no disconnect interrupts
our haunting indescribable disassembly broken parts
only the dead can rest if we let them not be have done
ourselves still part of a weak solution try to concentrate
sweep up wet leaves refinish floors hopelessly maintain
balance as remote dependencies fall away come home
to welcome beds rise to rain another inexorable spring
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