I sit reading a favorite book
Wearing a pair of brown leather sandals
Whose worn, flat soles look
As if they’re as old as the bible.
Wearing a pair of faded blue jeans.
Wearing a checked blue-green flannel Pendleton shirt
Too old to contemplate.
Sickened of words like
Of the threat and acceptance
Of being dominated by banalities.
Of therapists encouraged to indulge their ideologies
Rather than expanding the consciousness
The ceramic and metallic blue coffee cup
Holds 1/3 of something
And 2/3 of nothing.
I’ve reached some sort of finish line.
Some sort of marker
Laid down by a center of Universe.
The loss of a tuning fork.
Signifier of an identity
That grew a multitude of identities,
Friends showed up for me
Through social media currencies
And banal identity politics.
It must have been uncomfortable
How can it not be
When someone mirrors pain?
Yet they did.
Gave me a bed to sleep in.
Let me take snorts
From large bottles of Bombay Gin
In the middle of virgin nights.
Allow me succor
Through phone lines
Knowing spaces of quietude.
Thank you for saying nothing.
I don’t care.
In my movie you were
And Winnie the Pooh
Again and again and again
I want to come back
To the joys that sit with us now.
To everyone’s differing versions of unity.
To the liminal space
Where tear’s water roses,
Sails fill with God’s breath,
And French butter melts
Over heaping dollops
Of mashed potatoes
Speckled with green chives.
Why bury sin
When she’s our best friend?
I can’t brook a single center of Universe
When each center sits
In the spot where we stand.
I was succored by friends,
Succored by an old teacher who now
Walks tenderly with a cane.
Succored by the annoyances of those I love.