There is no no believing

by George Quasha

Touch fear.
The world is holding back.
The garden wants us back in.

The nearest thing to spirit is warding off.
Hold the focus slices time to the present instant of shape.
There are more tones per thought happening in a given view than believed.

An image forms in building the lingual ark.
What is the syntax of this moment telling me what this is .
Book is the context of unattended indication now coming to bear.

A new angle flips the view still viewing.
The air fears for us crossing the flesh.
We’re the only one here.

Mind following the flipped coin comes open at every angle.
Every word tells its tale but alone it’s godly mute.
Telling shows you how your mind means, meaning as you do.

Nature is about to think in me when changing belief changes the body.
I think moving and body reflects movingly.
The natural side is this side side by side with its other side, along for the ride.

The dream is the other side of the thing now happening.
Creation goes all the way down and back up again.

Believing what you see gets you through the day and then goes stray.