In This Is Poem by Michael Walkerjohn

I
moi
thinks
everyone
should think
deeply and do
stop asking why
there is no escape
from the self, which
deep down accepts its
reality… Could there a new
reality be? Never question that
feeling which seems impossible and
oh so vague… desire to escape your unlit
heart and free yourself from yourselves self
torture… this exquisite self-torture of one's self
despite the throbbing thoughts and constant ringing
of your conscience and consciousness and flightiness and
your inner emptiness and your social loneliness and such sadness
seek no escape… drape your selves in your selves and become your own
selves which are within your known selves and then shelf your old selves and
then… from the impossible, make the probable be as you would have the probable be
as you may imagine, this is now no attempt to escape your escape is now improbable as you
are now heading towards the stars with moi… travelling with moi towards my reality towards my own
reality… a presumptuousness proposition on my part? Perhaps, is this an exquisite probability?
possibly pleasant purposeful prosperous possibility poised posed prosed primed primp
prompt pimped and pimped and pimped… potentiality… potent… powerful
peace created, rather than protected something that is possible
instead of asking why; embrace this instead of escape
this and or moi… and my self-imposed imposition
upon your self' position, which is in opposition
to itself and not in the proper pose to see
my order of universe, my own order
in my universe in which all is an
ordering ordered by moi…
you, captured by moi
travelling to an
unknown
reality
with
moi
me
I