To say that a book speaks

I am only half of me          
         
I meditate with my eyes open, Wide I          
         
like to say I pray. Dreams        
         
In the daydream of self-intervention between          
intervals of time and        
         
passages It is like living in a favorite book        
         
Streams of invent Whole. Ranges and circles of          
self Witnessing as if        
         
Such did not exist        
         
Prosably. Whatever say. Who cares?        
         
Pretending? I am always exist at the edge        
         
That of the spectrum all the way Until things          
become        
         
Which they always do, eventually. Then        
         
I go with the current. Maybe I should just shut up        
         
and don't talk anymore. A stranger will write me a        
         
two-sentence message, I will reply with a five-page          
letter, but does it        
         
not really matter Prosably I should stop doing          
         
that and also keep a complete silence on the radio  
too        
         
Where?        
         
I spend too much time as if not in therapy        
         
Not taking care to explain myself Like a friend          
username who said        
         
You like to be the king of nonsense        
         
Whatever you say. If I speak honestly about myself          
I would say I am always          
         
crazy Shouting at the top of my lungs about my feelings and      
         
It will sound pretentious. I am a highclass middle-        
class white boy fraught amid the transmission of

a spiritual trauma, and this        
voodoo        
         
resonates here and there Simultaneously walking          
the traffic corridors        
         
all day every day Maybe I'm the worst person.       
       
I hope your girlfriend finds out what her name is