Lost Your Place

Out on the porch, you dive
Into the mind, pure mind
In the sense it’s all text,

It’s all language, ideas
Writhing around in words.
A black desert beetle,

Dusty, waddling, thicker
Than most human fingers,
Wanders by, disrupting

The purity of mind.
A dusty black house-cat
Stalks behind the beetle,

Practicing at hunting.
The shadows get shorter
Around beetle and cat,

And you realize why mind
Cares about skulls and texts.
It seems to run the world,

But it folds like a tent,
That mind, until almost
No mind’s left, the moment

When what’s not mind wanders
Into the arrangements
Of text. Purity, heh.