not a pretty picture. not a good. not a bad. picture. but an argument.

Monday, August 1, 2016

meditation on what a flower is, black eyed susan, i


Centripetal Force And a Lull in The Stratosphere

I looked up and found myself inside of it. But how astonishing.
I would never have known which door to take to enter it. 
It was halfway over before I realized, my eyes big on my hands, 
on my own two hands, 
my senses swollen as though by bees, 
my mind convinced of abnormalities come alive as though I'd been slipped lsd.
It lasted long enough for me to peruse the convenience store shelves
for canned potatoes and mushrooms, locate them, dusty, in strange places
(separate aisles), the potatoes next to the ludicrous event of canned beets.


   
Canned beets! For crying out loud, who could have imagined! 
I could smell the old floor. The walls drew nearer. 
This was my convenience store. This was my life. 
Somehow I had caught up with it. 
I stood inside of it with a delighted nervous vertigo, 
oddly and completely connected.  



























.
.
Even later still, at home at the stove-top, the venison sausage sputtering,
spitting its juices, the cans canted, the vegetables singeing to a crisp
convincing and true, I drank a beer, a cold one, and I'll be damned
my feet weren't barefoot on the kitchen floor in full contact. 
My hand handled the spatula. 
I was planted through a thread in my head by the rank aroma 
and cleansed with the cloth that passed by me as a breeze 
carrying the kitchen window's simulacrum of garden growing waist-deep cilantro. 
Everything was right. I had impostered myself for forty-odd years and finally, 
for a moment, i found myself directly inside of my life.