cannabidiol helps me sleep but nocturnal turns me wooden and wakes me heart-stiff

sitting in morning
attempt, i meditate
on the sound of heater.
i focus on
the buzzing hum,
a breath caught
throat and mouth.
a place that brings
no pain.

i meditate on
the feeling of my body
on the ground.
of crossing my legs,
builds to pain
in ankle bone
and knee.
hip flexor and
pelvic girdle.
i am
aware of pain,
less so of
its location. the mind
creates pain and
perceives it.
meaning; pain
is both internal and
of us and

in pain, my mind
encourages my body,
shift position!
alleviate the pressure
on ankle!
take your mind from
the photo of your ex-girlfriend’s
fat orange cat,
already so soon
on the lap of another man.
take your legs and
uncross them.
take your temper and
uncross it.
take your pain in
your hands.
close your hands.
hold on to
your creation, then
let it go.

and where does it go?

today, it went
to a northern suburb
on the fringe of Chicago.
a warm Spring day
in the backseat
of the family Chevy.

my mother
driving, maybe. perhaps
my father.
though this memory does
not contain
the menace of his weight.

soft, this
memory, so it must
be piloted by mother,
this Chevy.
and a near-north suburb,
just across the city line,
where the buzz of violence
calms itself
to a hum. living
in the space between
throat and mouth.
before being
swallowed, just
after being
the pause between
teeth and entombment.

i am unaware, as i practice
at awareness,
as to why in my mind’s attempts
at escape
from pain, it goes
to this memory.

a near-north suburb,
just over the Chicago city line.
a warm Spring day
in a softly piloted Chevrolet.

a business district with
wide avenues and
broad backed trees.
sunlight finding room
between leaves and
to alight warmly upon
my ruddy skin.

its presence,
an absence, as it does
not linger long enough
to burn.

Published by Zak

an intertidal island in an ocean of impermanence.

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