How someone so closed
can open up. Anxiety
tends to the darkness
of being holed up inside
a box, no sunlight in.
How do you open? Some
say with a knife. Some
with a drink. For others
it’s in dreams. Meditation,
astral projection, a twitchy,
burrowing trance, a mid
night to six in the morning
dance. A drug, recreational
addicts pump their hands
in the air, fell themselves,
be it feet to sand, sidewalk
or dancefloor, rise toward
the ceiling or a boundless
sky and eventually evap
orate. The god, a goddess,
in all that, resections each
vaporized eye, recalibrates
it, then penetrates all of
those gorgeous pupils,
a rainbow of them, we
look down at each other,
accepting our bodies re
formulating as vessels,
but not before, numb to
the day’s pain, with the
help of the penetrator,
cleansing each particle
of evaporated body, which,
by sometime between four and
six in the morning, having re
combined to slink down the
sidewalks of our most indus
trial streets feeling more alive
than the last time, sensing
within the twilit glimmers and
the yet resurrected shadow
E V E R Y T H I N G. I go
from here. I start now.
Lean in with arms open,
heading whichever direction.
Ready to embrace what lies
ahead, recognizing anew and,
in giving, taking, reverberating.
