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So, I’ve decided.

Someday I’m going to build a rope house
and hang my thoughts in the attic.
 
And sleep like a lightning bug
smeared across a yellow wiffle-ball bat in the dark.
 
Someday long after that,
someone will find my moon-rock collection
and howl like wind chimes
in a wind tunnel
till they break apart
and zoom straight into the ajna of the universe.
 
Meeting like the gnat and the man on the motorcycle.
 
Driving blind for a while.
 
Don’t crash.
 
You can do it.
 
It won’t make any sense until I’m gone.
 
I won’t make any sense until I’m gone.
 
It won’t be long.
 
I won’t be long.
 
Never ask “What else can go wrong?”
Look for the next thing that will go right.
 
I am in-line with the logic of reincarnation
and the redistribution of energy.
But this is funny,
Organic material zooms.
 
It blooms.
 
The flower of fate
cross-pollinates with doom.
 
I think myself in
I think myself out
The circle of anxiety;
reason and doubt.
 
The day I that I decide to know
that what I know and what I’ve always known
is and was not paranoia—
is that day that I disappear.
 
I knew all along. I stayed too long.
 
The sacrifice was not wrong.
 
But now the now is mine
and I’m gone.
 
Come and find me.

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