"To Die For"


I think i write my poetry like i think
       i walk
Prescient born footsteps?     I think not
Breath upon a page      nothing more
       essential mundane repetition of
       life process
Or perhaps the soul

Through lack of skill a mystic is born
       mumbling incoherent descriptions
       of a blurry apparition
I do not need to be here      no one else can
       do my essential task the why
       of this shape
Form follows functions

The empty shell holds up the heavens
       touches god      is
The form shell births creation suffering and
The i      king of desire      must abdicate
       willingly      no thing else can do
       so much truth birth
The problem is      the i feels
       almost worth dying for