(i think) I Know

i dare to search

for indisputable answers

in questionable places

i dare to defy my heart

that i might satisfy my mind

i dare to open boxes

mummified in the invasive

odor of age

and so

i go blindly into the jungle

into this place where

(i think) i have found my way

and i am inside this wilderness

and i am with the beasts

and they are with me

but we are not alone

a voyeur hides

awaiting my uncertain pause

awaiting my faltering footstep

awaiting and daring

to speak

at times

with honeyed tone

and haloed behavior

at times

challenging what it is

(i think) i know

and so

i might consider

retracing my footsteps

old and faded as they may be

partly here and partly gone

and from them to learn

the path i should not take

i might consider

trying to discover

the very source of

my ancient sorrows

and from it to water

the plant of my evolution

i might consider

pretending i do not see him

partly hidden and partly visible

though somewhat reticent

this voyeur who would like

to drown me in the honey of his words

i might consider

approaching him and saying that

his means can no more stop me than

a hand can stop a hurricane in its whirl

his means can no more sway me than

a pebble can sway a wave from its crash

his presence need no more

circle and glide

like an insect

trapped

inside the cloistered membrane

of my soul

and this

(i think) i know

and then

possibly

i might consider

slumbering for a spell

plunging into a Small Death

that truth might reveal itself

in the dreams and shadows

that bend my mind

beyond intellect

beyond chance

beyond reason

beyond memory

beyond will

(if such exists)

and then

possibly

i might consider

entertaining this Small Death

that i might trick the Big Sleep

but

i do not consider

i do not speak

i do not execute

instead

i go blindly into the jungle

into this place where

(i think) i have found my way

and i am inside this wilderness

and i am with the beasts

and they are with me

but we are not alone

a voyeur pounces

grasping to verify my misthought

grasping to ensure

my misstep becomes my fall

grasping and daring

to bellow

now

with vibrant timbre

and violent demeanor

now

challenging what it is

(i think) i know

But this

now

I do (I do) know:

Silence is the death knell of

The Lukewarm Straddler,

and Inertia her murderer will be.