The Hot and Cold of It

Let us speak

The Truth,

here,

now.

If we knew

The Truth,

or what Truth is,

we could,

but,

I know only

passing moments

flowing around and through

Me

carried away and dissolved

in them,

by them,

for them;

disjointed and flowing.

And who would we tell

This Truth

if we were to know it,

as we do,

since we cannot tell ourselves?

This Truth of,

“I don’t know what I don’t know”,

(and I don’t really want to know, do I?)

If we suddenly knew

what we already know,

empty being dustdevils,

acts of purposeless purpose

would blow away

like so much

incinerator ash.

Then what?

What would we do

as we look around

and see

The Truth

of nothing

as nothing looks around

and sees?

Truth

flowing, 
ebbing
--- never ending heart beat

Immortal mortality.

And if this is Truth,

why would we tell 
if we could?

Is it not enough to hold a hand,

pet a dog,

water a pot of ivy?

We speak of Life

as if

it were something real

but its not,

its only 
The Truth,

(if we ever could know what that is…..)