I Like Poems You Can Tack All

The Mind Is So Hospitable, Taking In Everything Like Boarders, And You Don't See Until It's All Over How Little There Was To Learn Once The Stench Of Knowledge Has Dissipated.

The Soul Establishes Itself. But How Far Can It Swim Out Through The Eyes And Still Return Safely To Its Nest?

Until, Accustomed To Disappointments, You Can Let Yourself Rule And Be Ruled By These Strings Or Emanations That Connect Everything Together, You Haven't Fully Exorcised The Demon Of Doubt That Sets You In Motion Like A Rocking Horse That Cannot Stop Rocking.

How Many People Came And Stayed A Certain Time, Uttered Light Or Dark Speech That Became Part Of You Like Light Behind Windblown Fog And Sand Filtered And Influenced By It, Until No Part Remains That Is Surely You.

The Soul Is Not A Soul, Has No Secret, Is Small, And It Fits Its Hollow Perfectly: Its Room, Our Moment Of Attention.