There is a poem
trying to breach the surface,
some part of me chained
to the ocean’s floor,
fighting to break free.
I forgot how to live.
I can only remember
by forgetting.
the mindlessness of the mindful,
the folly of the scholar.
oh, the sage wisdom of the child.
stick on the ground:
a staff.
point the way.
it’s impossible
to be lost
when you’re playing pretend.
have you seen the confidence
underlying the imagined?
does the fool second guess himself?
the fool leads legions.
wisemen at the mercy
of his utter conviction.
you filled the well of the intellect,
stealing the water
of your self-belief.
yeah,
that reservoir of conviction:
long run dry.
THE CLOSET MYSTIC 