Is it fine, if I am..

Thinking
of hunting down the darkness
of the wild.

Thinking
of that void deep
behind a flower.

Thinking
of strolling off from
the grand statues.

Thinking
of the affinity
of wings for stones.

Thinking
of this world
filled into a beautiful bowl
served, deserted and reserved.

Thinking
of mountains keeping back floods
of brightness.

Thinking
of tip of my fingers as stars,
and of my hand being the zodiac.

Thinking
of images
of the act of drowning
into waves
of being overcome
by only
thinking.

Thinking
about not thinking
anymore?