Nothing borne of nothingness
Yet something, all this
Borne of nothing
Confusion, what’s next
Confusion, how to be as collected
As sedate, as calm, as cool
As Brando or Hemingway with their cats
Choices, unknown and unsettling
Confused, how to see the sights
Illuminated by Rumi and Kabir
Where lies that point
Of bliss, of an ecstatic reality
Confused, how to access the worlds within
A not so insignificant measure of confusion I carry
Usually well-concealed, infrequently it peeps out, through rushed sentences and inebriated confessions
Confused, how not to be confused anymore
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