Kinesis

All I hear is my body float. 

The vessel constructs cages for my thoughts. 

But there is nothing but concepts brightened by the dark through vibrations. 

All I hear is kinesis. 

The tub and fridge made of iron and tin still groan. 

The lack thereof of this horrendous gut feeling. 

The crimson rust has become too raw. 

Lack of thought was so prominent and now all I do is think of a filled space. 

Overwhelming feelings contain purpose. 

I am all with everything, but yet I continue to persist through wonders. 

What is the purpose without internal drive? 

Only space will tell as the sands wash away. 

But as I rise higher and higher from this metaphorical bed. 

As I remove myself from the covers to find frigidity yet worth. 

I am warm and full of joy. 

Joyful for many reasons. 

Joyful to hold the torch of the socialite. 

And to release my fingers from the soft hands of the crossroads, it fuels. 

All I know will be something and maybe more.

© Niklen 9/2/26