Those things one is supposed to know,
how to tie your shoes
and tie up your life and dreams
into reasonable patterns

that can be discerned when needed
to assure you that your fiber
will cover the stream of unattached
things that glide like translucent platelets

on the sclera of your eyes,
and are all around you,

time, people, places, memories,
what was thought to be,
what is imagined to be,

what your heart thinks is real
but your mind rejects,

what your mind thinks is real
but your heart rejects.

Those things, bundled,
neatly, or not so neatly,
casually, vibrantly, bursting
out of the bag, calliope of chaos

beyond time,
outside of beliefs,
not collectible into Something.

Those things one is supposed to know,
where have they gone off to now?