then, from this guru-free shore now disentangle from thoughts, whether language-restrained or as word-free concepts sailing a near meaningless sky — thoughts nonetheless Descartes’ darlings these thoughts percolating from who knows what depths to surface and like soap bubbles rise into and explode in sunlit air, one light notion after the other asking but one thing:
chase me
And by chasing you feed the notion, who now becomes two and then three and then a thousand — swinging like virulent monkeys from tree to laughing tree:
