im leaving constantly

 its a state of mind, a way to hold things without any grip, like the result of endless carpal tunnel syndrome on a machine shop floor, riven metal and tools scattered randomly throughout. i have no sense of wealth or prosperity, im surrounded by poverty and decay, the door leads to short-handled hoe fields of wet green rice paddies and women in shin deep water wade all day bent low from the waist, muttering and chattering between themselves like old sisters at a discount store. im excused from caring, theres no one here to do that. the worlds a lovely shade of semi-real and not. all the children play and the dogs sniff and strut across the broken pavement like landowners, their bitches laying in the shopfront shade. i make my peace with the unreal and accept all truth as it comes until theres nothing left but what i am and where that starts and ends i cant distinguish too clearly but the banyan trees look lovely and the clouds rise like a Miazaki moment on a screen of infinite proportions continually updated. i revel in the reality of my senses and sleep the wonderful dream of being. where the love goes where the heart flows where the life stops then who knows where i am, and even this simple idea gets lost in the thunder of beauty coming from everywhere.