To Think Or Not To Think (What Was The Question?)

To write what needs to be written
Would be to face, to think
Maybe to run to my own brink
Yet to go with my flow
Let passing thoughts go
May be more risky than to delve
And resign myself
To a mental age of twelve

So what's a poet to do
In this summer of little structure
To avoid a major rupture
To the core of this floating life
Which was once voting for such strife
In seasons all the same
Not that long ago
In the good old misery game

An ongoing experience
Through some developmental whizzes
Fillings of sweet London kisses
In fine different places
With new-slash-refurbished faces
Is in these strange days
All I have to define me
Behind this lacking gaze

Who is this false writer
Who can but vaguely remember
Being a soul strong member
Of that rare special breed
Of selfless heart filled feed
Who live on harsh pain
But have enough beliefs
To own some form of gain

Though deep thinking destroyed me
It kept me on life support
Enabled me to report
Whilst rebuilding and reforming
Though I ponder on 'deforming'
Into this mediocre being
Who can't quite settle
Into applied mediocre seeing

Who are you new articulator
And what on earth are you doing
In the path of my tough viewing
And what are we heading for
When the question is more
To think or not to think
As contemplation calls
To define this week's brink