Self-help is a joke.
What we have are strings
that align our wishes with what we do
and don't do. How long can we keep
the tension? Escape from histories stored
in the contours of your pupil, cling to the monolith
of your imagined power. No contentness
You hold on to yourself as if you were alive.
You give away yourself as if you were dead.
Stand away from what you have been told,
learned, given. Step back and you dissolve
with what has been counted: past, present, future.
What oneness do you hear there?
When you are
nothing, mystery becomes
Don't tell anyone
who you are.
They can never understand.
to be something.