baked by the fresh, morning sun
the streets reek of boredom, panic, and piss
decide to practice increased tactility
practice keeping my head from bowing to track my shoes
practice my breathing
practice regulating judgmental tendencies
achieve temporary reprieve
enjoy a brief taste of peace
until I remember that there is horror
horror and death, that floats above us all
ready to set upon us at will and whim
there is danger, and blindness, and strokes, and insanity, and…
and then, I remember women
I remember sex with a woman
feel myself growing lighter, in shade and weight
feel myself getting hard
and suddenly
I’m not thinking about dying, anymore
bernard barnes . artist . writer 