“If I can’t eat it,
start a fire with it,
or get out of jail with it…
give it away!”
Packing protocol.
Somebody point me to the trail;
I need to get back out.
My feet are too fragile.
A rogue stick would punch right through.
I’ve gotten too soft.
I have a room.
This room is heated.
We have plenty of hot water
and my clothes are clean.
I’m showered and pristine.
My breath smells great.
I should be comfortable.
I can’t fucking stand it.
Everything I have will still fit into this frame pack.
Except for that broken car.
And this bleeding heart.
I’ll add them to the list
of things I left behind
to fix themselves.
I am surely grateful,
for the comfort of abundance.
Alas, I am uncomfortable
having more than I need.
I know that I don’t deserve this…
yet somehow I do.
Complacency is strangling me with weak fingers;
it holds comfortable around my neck,
like silver chains over silk threads.
I awoke with a pinched nerve,
and a wish to renounce all of this
in the name of “change” and “being”.
I am only one.
One is determined not to be further hypnotized.
We perceive only as we allow ourselves to.
I crave truth and detachment.
I read a pamphlet about salvation;
it told me to offer my worldly things
to a Master
in hopes that I may realize
the masterpiece.
Sound advice, of course.
If you are crazy like I am,
and have fantasies of burning your wardrobe
along with your sense of property.
I’ll slip away
between water and air
like a vagabond frog
looking for the pond that feels most like home.

Categories: poetry | Tags: , , , , | Leave a comment

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