Of Turtles and Birds

quiet-pond

They walked to the pond
and the sun was warm,
it encouraged them to sit on a bench
and they sat awhile and talked.

A turtle sat on a log that lay
like a waiting crocodile in the pond,
while herons tred in outward arcs
in search of primordial nourishment.

“True enlightenment,” he said, “is a turtle sitting on a log.”

“Yes,” she said, “but reality is birds pecking your face.”

-BSB

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When death lurks on your morning stroll

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

f3a073ad3af8bf47_walking

owning this day

This heat, this glow, it blasts through the glass
upon my skin and for a moment
I feel enriched by it
the way a plant would, but soon
I realize the sun only exists
because I willed it to
and so
the heat and the light is mine
and I am to blame for it
and all the cancer it has caused
and this morning
I’ve energized myself and all is right
and it’s good
and it’s all my fault
and I feel absolutely fine with that.