Soul bared, the quadrants of a soul are extended
and seen slithering into the corners of the room.
Mask shattered; innumerable jagged shards are driven like spikes
into inches of the pillowy flesh of cheeks,
into bony upper eye sockets, by the force
of the explosion of contemplative nebulae.
The thin back presses into hardwood,
uncomfortable, but ignores the touch, while
arms are spread to present a diaphragm
quivering with unsteady breaths,
with heavy inhalations intensified by the
cresting of a concept.

When else is the magnitude of an idea
so fully grasped (palms clammy, shaking), than
in a moment such as this?  How else, when
one is filled to the brim with
slinky trains of thought, body and mind all-encompassed by the heft of
who-knows-what?  Teeth drag across the tender spots
where cracked bones have healed. 
Wrists are blue with fatigue; the rosettes of a flush
lie plastered across speckled skin.  When else is entropy
so inviting?

A heartbeat parades visibly up and around
the weary chest.  Vigor.  Magnitude.  A pulse flutters
persistently beneath the tenderest, most feeble skin of
the wrist where the tendons can be felt to arch and strain.
It trembles in the tired crook under the dense line of a jawbone.
I watch.  It enthralls me. 
Who writes the treaties now?  Where is the solace?
Mute the unstoppable sounds from deep within
that come without conscious urging.  I am barren of any
doubt, any truth, any reason but this.  Imploring with
subtle fingertips where eyes run over
the deep insets in nails.
There is nothing but unbridled existence
and suddenly discovered, temporary meaning. 
Help me create the vacancy; bring about the nonbeing.  For the love of
something.  See these fingertips tremble at the new knowledge I
have been brought?
Teach me.