A reed that thinks too much
of all the ideas about my purposefulness, I liked that one the best
that I am Reed (who thinks) while a poet – more conscientious than
philosopher – said rather that I am (saint) Grass and to find that
purpose of my own I stood still in my reed boredom
trying to make a tree out of a grass mountain and sinking so much
that I twisted my spine forever to achieve that purpose
I jumped too deep, I didn’t measure well, so what
to do now, so what – what, get a hold of yourself
and swing yourself over yours
the loving depth and only that
what you have missed it
was yours purpose
and the fact that started
little cysts and nodules and polyps inhabit
and everything went back and forth
straighten up bend down it’s uncertain
and that’s what
you should be thankful
always be thankful for everything
(and don’t think)