There is no meaning.
That’s what I tell myself.
Then I find meaning,
And wonder what it means.

When I let go of purpose,
All that’s left is meaning.

This meaning is not logical.
It has no objective.
It’s just there.
Meaning nothing.

Aimless.
Effortless.
I am the meaning for myself.
But I am also nothing.
It makes perfect sense.

Nails grow,
Skin to dust,
Tongue, drum, eye
Come-go,
Again, again
Who is this lingering?

Old fly strip
rotating softly in air;
Mind
the fly
would stay
stuck 
there

Concentration floats
Energy raises the tide
Pop goes the weasle