mind-phase sliding through a thought-phrase
leaves me a rock in the stream
just above for breath
and running all around me
water water but I'm still so thirsty

takes an inside shove to roll this
over and check the underside
for those crustaceous memories
clinging to the cores of my recessions
that they might live through me
or that I might live through them
stringing along just enough power
to whine at the edges of consciousness

I'll be a rock in the stream (I told him)
getting to know the touch of the rush
without having to give myself up to it
let it slide round me and lick
the crevices of thought and memory
seep into the pores of my presence
so that I can get to know every caress,
all the nuances of water
without ever letting myself go under.