the hops in the tea make it bitter and you worry you might break the chair

smell is a powerful tool, 
so you attempt its use. 
its ability to transport, 
for travel, for shifting 
your rigid meat into a space
less barbed and buzzing. 
a whiff and remembrance 
swells (like ocean) 
and you remember 
(like ocean) that once you existed 
in different states. like New York 
and uncomfortable. like Alaska 
and unconscious. 
today you are mostly alive
in panic, or sighing sweetly 
into sleep. outside 
of these states (New York, 
nervous) you rarely find footing. 
so you try for the olfactory 
shape-shift, to see if smell can awaken
you to a different passport, 
borders and stamps. an ocean 
not salted with memory, swelling. 
remember, pizza and movies and 
calm? remember when you loved 
those women until they would no longer
talk to you? that is an indoctrinated form 
of love and swelling, (ocean)
memory, similar to your experience 
of love as a pugilist; 
its strike bringing bright blooming 
and ringing. so now we move
into bells (warm, ringing):

yes, you loved 
her in the way that love loves 
to strike; to ring
your bell (head) and blossom
upon your skin (blooming). 
your tongue twitches 
like the fish; 
of your angry and despairing
father, of the ocean (memory),
and you’ve talked yourself from 
love into silence. just
as a rung bell (warm, 
blooming) both calls forth and casts 
away. attempting to hold 
panic in your hands, you
(ocean) swell with the smell 
of ringing (bell) memory.

you were once 
a child and will some
day perhaps be
elderly. today 
you are uncomfortable 
or unconscious. 
today you surround 
yourself, like parenthesis. 
like (ocean, memory, bell, 
bloom) the ovals of your nostrils 
and the slow waking 
to what might be a difference
(Alaska, joy, calm, Vermont) in 
understanding. States and states, 
you see?

hug yourself and don’t talk
yourself from love to hate. she won’t 
say she hates you but she does. 
only someone who loves you can 
possibly hate you. did you hate 
yourself for all those years? did you
not know that it was love? that you
are (worthy, valuable, 
deserving) love?

Published by Zak

an intertidal island in an ocean of impermanence.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: