Coasting

I am faceless, 

and I do not resist, 

the flux which flows, 

and knows. 

Like transcendental blood, 

only mud is left after flood. 

Thicker than water, 

I would rather, 

sit 

and wander. 

Careful I am,

I wish I hadn’t ran.

From that which is space, 

as if it was a race. 

Energy isn’t the matter,

it’s merely a ladder. 

Space. 

Energy.

Matter.

Time.

These poems don’t necessarily have to rhyme. 

The Only Vehicle (Thailand, 2024)