‘Own’ is aimed to keep things in control and ‘owning’ is
the ebbing and crashing waves by the lighthouse in my chest.
Let it come and see my naked body
walking around in this room without a sky
releasing what I believe is the pulse of exhaled sighs
leaving wanting outside this space.
I find it baffled by my choice of understanding ‘the self’ –
some days it understands the continuum of growing organs of loneliness, other days it asks me to follow the clock of conditioning built inside my mind and
submerge wholly in mechanical design of things.
It doesn’t have a name to attach itself to a feeling –
I can call it whatever I desire and comfort my raving mind.
The meditating pigeon in the rain is
the monk who has found it all
accepted the disapproving paths and made peace with it.
Who owns the road to realizing the islands of broken watches?
Everyone sets and reaches some place;
my body is stuck in the stillness of passing through the conundrums.