Beyond Mountains, More Mountains

You worship psychology
I worship the mystery
You get put in boxes
I jump out my soxes
I don’t label, I don’t rank
Your couch and armchair stank.
Your puritan mind yearns
To trap trickster underground
Where he can’t make a sound
Til the dam breaks
How it shakes
Even from the future
Into the now.
The anxiety of the chained force
Is worse than the force itself
You sure you want that box?
Better off living in the in-between
the glitch
Being part of the stitch.
Psychology is not my god
It’s a tattered map at best.