do nothing, feel everything

it was a
black mid-sized pickup
dark gray windows
blue smoke coming from
rusted orange tailpipe.

rusted orange tailpipe
and beautiful
and not at all like
a setting sun.

it was startling
to me,
black mid-sized pickup,
i was wearing
shoes that were
and still are
a saturated combination of
blue and green,
not teal,
so that when
i think of them
i get thirsty.

and the
black mid-sized pickup
drove closely by me,
me walking in those
thirsty shoes,
the both of us
in a large parking lot
right next to the ocean.

the pickup drove quickly
by me and
too close for
my liking and
i was startled
and shocked by
the beauty of the
rusted orange tailpipe.

i rose my hand in the air
and shook it around
and yelled “hey”
in the direction of
the pickup
hoping it would stop.

its taillights flared
red like lit cigarette tip,
no that’s more orange.
its taillights flared
red like thoughtless
self-focused need
and the pickup
and i walked in the
saturated shoes
to the window,
which was now down.

“your tailpipe is
the most beautiful
rusted orange”,
i said,
with a smile,
the driver looked at me
with a pale mixture
of confusion
and suspicion
and said
and cleared his throat and
sucked in a quick snort of air,
giving a few inches of girth
to his chest.

“if you meet me
over there”
i said,
motioning to a
large building
at the un-ocean’d side
of the parking lot,
“up against the
white building
i can take my elbow and
use it to make
abstract art
of you against the wall”,
i said,
a chuff of
a laugh
coming from my
pale pink chest.

i did not wait
for him
to answer
and instead
a laugh
and nodded
my head
and pointed
towards the
far side of the
parking lot,
the un-ocean’d side
and he
looked over to where i was
pointing and
i turned my whole body
and head with it and
continued walking
through the parking lot
and along the ocean.

i was wearing
a shirt
that i had been
wearing earlier in the morning,
fourteen hours earlier,
and it was no longer wet
with sweat
as it had been,
now it was
a dry and
slate ocean blue
and i noticed
as i walked next to the
gray glowing ocean
that it smelled sweet,
the shirt
not the ocean,
and this must mean that
i smell sweet

i thought sweetly of how
last week,
just four
or five
days ago,
i had recalled that i hadn’t
really ever started
with the feelings of
pervasive anger until
my early twenties and
that meant,
that i was not really
angry at all
for the first twenty
or so
years of my life.

when the truck
hit me
from behind
i was thinking
about not feeling
and while i was
briefly afloat,
i no longer thought
of anger,
only smelled
the sweetness of my
dry slate ocean blue shirt
and thought
that i too
must be sweet.

a man stands in front of a window, mostly in shadow. a structure made for cats to climb and play is next to him, less in shadow.

Published by Zak

an intertidal island in an ocean of impermanence.

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