Perhaps I have meditation
all wrong, and it isn’t about
finding the off switch. The way
trees swaying in the wind
stay so firmly seated makes me
think I too need to delegate
all decision-making to mushrooms.
Collecting sunlight could be
my whole vocation; never mind
the masked vigilantes running riot
in my imagination. Not every trip
unfolds according to plan. But
I have acquired an apparatus
dearer to me than any pet
with which to concentrate the mind.
So sleek a device—plastic married
to metal. If only I could remember
how to turn it on.
OTHER POSTS IN THE SERIES
- A Week of Kindness
- Herbaceous
- Crushed
- Breast Man
- Manic Pixie Dream Consultant
- Lord of Misrule
- Lilium martagon
- Cat Person
- Escape Artist
- Provincial
- Black site
- Love Machine
- Lionheart
- The Song of the Womb
- Fallen Woman
- Postmortem
- Floating World (Ukiyo)
- Insomniac’s Revenge
- Travel Anxiety
- What Does the Shadow Know?
- Exile
- Desecration
- Bubbly
- The Comeback Kid
- Outside-in
- Sequestered
- White Lady
- Invested
- Mater
- Blow
- Submission
- Biofeedback
- Public Servant
- Executive
- Specialist
- Officialdom
- Prayer Warriors
- Bitter End
- Riparian
- Cabaret
- Accommodation
- Treedom
- Livid
- Flood Watch
- Iemanja
- Imprisoned
- Downward Mobility
- Sirenity
- Somniloquy
- Master Debaters
- Helene