imagine I feel

A story is a story is a narrative is a story is an experience is

A lifetime.

“I don’t know.”

That’s what he said

, when I asked in a low, hushed, tone,

“How do you feel right now?”

The lovely pitch and tremolo of that voice.

As delicate as sinew finely strung and harshly wrought.

Utter “freedom,”;

requiring me to keep one foot in the wage economy of the mundane.

Like how your guru turned out to have a cigarette and woman habit.

Something must keep a mystæ mind from leaving here and now.

What better than an active hand in one’s own mortality?

Morbidity versus gestational rates.

Malthusian growth.

I heard your response before you said it.

And the forgotten

essence of Hesse’s

Glass Bead Game slips through as an ethos that the spiritual ideal, once obtained, is to then be put back into

the service of life and the living.

Doting and clinging like

a jaguar killing a caiman.

Death rolling.

Binding in the collective noun enumerating

A rare of knots.

Throwing seed and sowing semen.

Tilling the earth, post slash and burn agriculture.

Fallow lands left to lie and respawning

New growth.

Imagine I feel exactly as I appear.