In here (19.04.06)

It is inside this asylum that we accumulate, indulge, devour
our senses.
Senses not senses.
Here we have stagnated
away from the fast forwarding moments in time, that cannot stop for any man. Woman or child.
Nowhere else remains so bleak
but here
in the crumpled stations of our mind;
Two of us and one of me.
Swallowed in the grains of unpeace, disrest, awkward non-mobility
and nothing continues though no thing
makes sense.
Unwritten in years, a blessing to rediscover
The bleak limitless fragments.
Strangled. Somehow.
Not for understanding but for capturing, evoking, embracing and despising.
Sat alone and alive becoming inside.
Return irreversible, nigh impossible and there is regret
but none.
Here we have confused, confounded, confuddled
And made no sense.
Sense not sense.
Because it doesn’t;
Not unchanged but not desired
Without truth or causal curiosity.
Without appeal, new and untouched, released but not free.
Here again, but over there this time
same tune, new pitch.