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behind the skin sloping down, in this expanding purple darkness, i stumble on a thought that i recognize: it's mine!
its origins forgotten, the paths it has threaded through endless foreign darknesses, transforming from sparks to words to sparks.
it uses our vertebral structures, shaping them, that in turn influence it, easily seduced as it is by any familiar landscape
- fickle thought.
again and again it emerges, wearing different masks. it sparkles with newness, so that i, always eager for trinkets,
am relieved: new developments!
until i taste its sour age.
and again i wander,
exploring the inner folds of my skin, chancing on some fat shining yellow in the depths or on a splintering bone.
why this inner quiet? where are my inner sensors, fired by passing thoughts, or by a flickering awareness?
then
another thought plunges through this stagnant pool
it is not mine
its alien implications stick out like needles
& it is shiny
so i deliberately roll it around.
i let it catch at the soft inner lining of my skin, ripping it
always eager as i am for new insights: oh glittering prize,
sinking in so quick... leaving a layer of small mental debris on top, inpertubable
like clay

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