What Happens in a Man's Innermost . . .

What Happens in a Man's Innermost . . . is a cry. Of mind and heart. Of passion and commitment. Of pleasure and pain. Of logic and analysis. Of concepts and emotions. Of why and wherefore. Of bafflement and wonderment. what happens in a man's innermost . . . is a soliloquy. Not of a troubled soul but of a soulful soul. Thinking out loud. what happens in a man's innermost . . . is, i'm sure, not unique to this human being. whoever this 'human being' may be! i know not where from. i only know they come. Unasked, uncalled, unbidden. flooding, forming, blending. Thoughts falling and rising, flowing and ebbing, rolling, and etching into meaty mixes. Now turbulently gushing forth, now curiously peeping and peeling, now stunningly fretting and fuming, now gently curling over. With a clarity that surprises, with a purpose that questions, with a craze that defines, with an anger that belies belief. Thoughts that frantically search, that maddeningly beckon, that beggingly plead, that pleasure and pain, that bristle and bleed. Finally, all this tumult (hue!) and cry is just storm in a teacup. All this bouncing and battering is just storm before calm. As though nothing ever was that ever was, nothing ever is that ever is, nothing ever will be that ever will be. Mutually defining the 'me' in me.