car ride to north station went too quickly,
hand drumming the seat divider
naturally and cell phone
beeping unnecessarily some swerves
and puddles i was happy just to be
there because i had found my fire, hit the
floor or touched
the earth as they say in dimly lit yoga
studios, had found something like earnest
italian and realized my
heart was beating overtime, like it was pulling
water from a well and pumping it with all haste to a fire to be put out,
but a forest fire, one of those necessary if not
controlled burns tree roots tap in
to later (once made rich the soil)
energy and strength, nervous energy transformed to excitement
watching thoughts is almost like
watching the words at the bottom of a singalong
song. don't know if i've ever watched so
boldly but in a book of good ideas, pt. II, i might add that we should
kiss and see what happens. start a business
dreaming of music videos that never
get made but sound really beautiful
fingers playing mountains like a
keyboard and picking cirrus clouds like
guitar strings.
teenage dream? admit it build that
fort of sheets and memories brought into
the present
in the yoga room focus on
hands crunching arms,
foot sweat slipping
eyes looking straight
forward or up or
relaxing the (i imagine) three braids of
muscles in the back of the neck.
in the yoga room where sighs make up most of the air,
shaking arch, mind's stories,
pass observed then
find fire, a blaze controlled but
right let the heart (pumping blood, taking
air) want to be
elsewhere sometimes. boom
boom and now the rain is
beautiful
cvp
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