Poem By Gregory Crockatt
manifestational misrepresentations of reality
more manipulated preconcieved paradigms
bogging my inputs, restraining my senses
slight of mind, myself filtering furiosly, invisibly
so sensation remains in its paradigmed prison
a white padded room filled with little meaning
we make 'sense' of it all, it makes no 'sense'
nonsense, sensational nonsense, stripped away
flipped perspective, distorted dissilusional lens
with a tilted head, slack jaw, questioning gaze
divisional distractions distributed distastefully
you cannot divide something that just is, it is.
seated solumnly staring out into syncronicity
blending sense with sense and sensing everything
not trying to 'make sense' of it, just sensing it
nothing above or beyond the 'taste' of it all
why try to describe what you sense and feel
it must be sensed and felt to be understood.