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No Reason


This pulsing blood-burning desire is enough, a line a limit a fortune,
who cares Why? Follow its stream to the peak of expectation and
return triumphant with your prize of war, hung heavy on the neck
A necklace, a millstone, a gem. Breathe.

Why is immaterial. Not even a ghost. Not even imaginary.
Necessity has a different texture. This is pure doing, because
something tells you this is the one place to grab and not let go.
Ever. Swallow the fear of the unknown, follow its dark thread
through to the finish, where the desire tells you to plant your
flag and claim this space as "mine, goddamnit get out of the way!"

The pulse of desperation. It is something to remembered,
a chamber in the heart of loneliness, pumping away your
ancient determination. I am going to become what I
believe I am, close my eyes in front of the shining mirror,
if the illusion is perfect it is another reality. Isn't it?

I demand. I demand what I am due, What am I due? More than that.
More than enough. I demand not to drown in the vexations
Today tells me my Yesterdays have all got stored up in their
ideas of Tomorrow. I demand myself. Who has it? 'Fess up.

"What are you doing?"
"Everything."