strangely, i live in a world of equanimity
even though I am not equanimious.

quite the opposite: I can even loathe good things
and crave terrible things
and everything in between.

when i am at peace with my longing for it, i come out the other side:
the absurdity of it all is no longer new,
and the sense of possibility
torments me so much less.

long ago, i betrayed any manifesto
i could possibly write.
i am one of the absurdities.
i am not what i am.

good and bad are the boots we need to walk.
one step, two step.
we need more than boots to travel;
and, indeed, you can stay still;
in a sense you could fly instead;
or run, barefoot, calloused, and wild;
either way, the land-sky is,
walk or not, move or stay, see or forget,
it is.

it stretches on, so terribly samely, round.

that is why i am lost
because there is nowhere to go
only to move

and i am alone because
the land-sky is with me, in me, is me, not me.

a place is not really a place
a thing is not really a thing,
nor is it
its opposite
really.