There is the simple fact
of seeming to exist
within one’s own skin

How so fully do I agree
and also not agree
I can barely keep track

There is my pleasure,
which is the simplest kind
–existing as existence

And yet when life creeps
under my skin and dwells
there, I may call it pain

I perceive myself
but not directly —
these sense perceptions

Are the farthest thing
from direct after all
the lifetime of filtering

The screens clogged
and overloaded with
debris lodged and collected

What of it?
Can I see true
and/or dream real?

What of the attempt?
On the precipice of
forces consternating

In that collision, can 
like forces co-exist
without turbulence

Transcendence arrives
with the interfolding of
subject and object

15 May 2015 ~ San Cristobal, NM