Wednesday, April 12, 2017

Zen Boa

Think about not thinking
Think about laying a flat layer of blank, a nothingness  path
through all that something.
Watch time as it gambols and dances or lolls about and naps in the sun
-or what until recently used to be sun but is now indistinguishable
from the rest of the void.
You’d think the vacuum would make it difficult to breathe
but the opposite is true, you find yourself taking deep, fulfilling breaths
of the absence of oxygen, of any sort of gas at all.
You carry a list of names for things that no longer exist,
there are now only the words, some of them beautiful, some of them silly sounding
separated from the objects or ideas they once stood for.
You get tired of carrying the list and you let it fall toward what
used to be the ground, no longer solid beneath what are
no longer your feet. When you are ready,
close your eyes and picture a shape, a spiral,
feel it wrap around you, squeezing you tight
in its coils, a snake of cloud, of less than cloud,
of mist, of not even air. Feel that emptiness
squeeze you tight and swallow you whole,
as you swallow it whole, each of you

inside the other, gone.

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