The Blue Guide

in the grip of unmotion
with less than a thought in my mind
i sense the dark of an inner ocean
never known to time.

i have no being there:
there is no relation—nothing far, nothing near;
just the darkness within darkness
that most men love to fear.

i could lose it all, crawl
blindly feeling my way along
surrendering substance to the subtle
seduction to never have or belong.

o, why have i forsaken me,
embracing the whorl of nothingness
over certain certainties,  seeking
…the conscience of a blackened thing?

yet the world is fine as it tracks time
—though i’m no longer part of it.
and sans moi it seems nothing’s changed:
the advantage of playing my small bit.