two oh eight
a forty-minute shower in a hotel room with a view of the runway had me thinking of my encounter with James Gatz in a Kensington laundromat— it’s all in the details, the grin on his face warned me.
breathe in, breathe out, walk me to my car, color the world stupid no? maybe? whatever it takes to drop the disguise, the swimming and sinking in endless circles.
whatever it takes to take us back to a state of firstness, a spontaneous performance of our heroics.
pay attention to the way the air feels on your face when you go outside; pick a flower— pick a word— and repeat it as many times as it takes to forget its meaning.
check your last transactions — circles filled with things, voids filled with illusions. images crystallizing before me —
a blackbird, quiet avenues, wholeness, your bare back facing the ceiling— suffering, release, samsara, nirvana,
heaven?