Nothingness At Starboard

What time ‘s it?

     there’s no clock to look at
                                                  but
I think it’s five o’clock.

like a whale breathing in the ocean

          I keep to my breaths
          in this orchid-touchy
          cavern of mind’s silence.

Palms up!

          The pen is an alien organ
          my reserve body wants to kill away.

If I were a buddha
I would be a poem buddha.

          existing only

when the reader read my way.