teeth brushing with no paste nor powder

the place was crammed
with people.
all of them

you were hoping
for catharsis but
you just stood right in front of the speaker
and rocked back and forth
so that when you left
your hips
and neck both
from being so

the air spiked with the sweet smoke
of a burned plant and
inside it was warm.
outside it was raining when you entered and
raining still when you left.

maybe it had stopped
and started

outside you walked a block or two with the throngs of beautiful people
and then they disappeared
and you were walking
on your own.
kind of a
jerking hobble,
on account of the
sore hips.
on account of the
tense rocking,
in front of the speaker,
in the subtle sweetness of smoke.

back there where you had hoped for
catharsis but
just mostly enjoyed yourself.

a few times you lost focus and thought to yourself,
“i no longer think
i’ll even try
to be relatable”,
but then you took a
deep breath and
got back to your pant legs
from the sound waves and
your neck stiff from the

most of the people around you were
a good decade
younger and you
yourself lost
that same decade to a blackout.
two decades,

the decade you’ve just started
you might not see its end but
you saw its beginning.
and who can’t relate to that.

a man sits in shadow, the sun behind him, a hanging plant resplendent in green and gold, in flower, sun, and leaf.

Published by Zak

an intertidal island in an ocean of impermanence.

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