Attempts At Reductionism: Poem

Nothing borne of nothingness

Yet something, all this

Borne of nothing

Confusion, what’s next

Confusion, how to be as collected

As sedate, as calm, as cool

As Brando or Hemingway with their cats

Choices, unknown and unsettling

Confused, how to see the sights

Illuminated by Rumi and Kabir

Where lies that point

Of bliss, of an ecstatic reality

Confused, how to access the worlds within

A not so insignificant measure of confusion I carry

Usually well-concealed, infrequently it peeps out, through rushed sentences and inebriated confessions

Confused, how not to be confused anymore