Today I think I can
float off
into the cold darkness
of space and enjoy the ride.
I’m not stuck to this quicksand world.
Have you heard of a Tinkerbella – or a Fairy Fly?
The mass that is subtracted as either one departs
is too small to even be detected.
Don’t listen as I whisper
that where your skin begins, mine no longer ends.
I won’t mention to you
that the minutes now bend and stretch.
Am I supposed to ignore
that the floor curves under my feet
and the window sill goes wonky?
Yep!
Keep walking and look the other way.
I can’t imagine you are interested
that my face distorts in a funhouse mirror.
I am this face but I am not this face.
When I am smaller than a freckle,
I could fall through
a portal in the center of my eye.
No, I did not just say that.
Anyone else flying off the planet into space, today?
Anyone else watching the show of this world while losing the body?
Will you hold hands with me so I can steady myself?
Can we whistle together out into the dark mystery?
I am outside telling HAL that he doesn’t need to open the pod doors.
Hey, is the monolith an Archonic construction?
Can we go beyond The Demiurge? Don’t answer.
With thoughts as immaterial as space dust,
flying off can be a lazy river –
river, water, ground, sky, space –
girl –
let go of the grass growing on the bank of the river.
Just open your hands and let go;
it really is as easy as that.
Life as Improv 