The world is a weighted haunting –
– some complex surround –
to be dreamt and/or measured, and felt
with-in time
I amended the ‘haunting’ to be –
not the thick and illegible “world,”
but the compulsion of ‘figuring-out’ –
for with-out
the ‘figuring out,’
an ‘haunting’ is ghost –
and only just happens:
a nexting,
a breathing,
relation;
a missing,
a moving,
a touching,
a feel:
in convulsion.
Within which is conceived a convergence –
– event –
(some humanish word for ‘what’s happened’).
This ‘we’ –
what is it?
what part does it play
in the muddle?
And ‘what happens’ –
what means?:
That-which-is
(for us)
some occurring.
So diverge,
and tri-verge,
multiply in the mess –
the ‘world,’
as you feel it
and think it
and be –
how it wholly
might be
with itself.
Polysemic Stupor 