Are You Looking For Me?

You can find me in the weeds.


I see no future from here.

There’s nowhere to run but the past, but even memory delivers just a cold embrace.  The act of un-knowing oneself into unknown, tree-falling-in-the-woods being: is this any better than oblivion? I am not thankful. I am so sorry. I have loved and I love, I am un-knowing now.