The Room in Its Lack

Anyone have directions
From the lands of decisions,
Sick with indecisiveness

As Yang’s depleted legions
Of dragonflies, lands littered
With vacant amusement parks

Where ghosts and spirits died,
To the relentless oceans
Of waves being only waves

Without the slightest pretense
Of deciding anything,
Least of all to be the waves?

If you do, tell me, tell me.
I want to swim in those waves
And never make up my mind.