Sometimes I forget how permanent we are. The people in the sea share each other. I don’t cuss out the Pacific. I hear transformations happen in me. There are just emotions now. They are in every place. I start feeling them wrong. I can’t think of what to think of. I think of eating manicotti. I think of going to jail. I think that thoughts are just feelings my mind has. I feel a lot of things twice or more. Sitting is the emotion I’m having right now. I practice day. Around me are considerate animals. I am in an environment of practice. The concerns are weather and ghosts and thoughts.
I hear stars when I’m drunk. I feel like owls are scary heroes. My loose eyes. I put a person in me. Everyone is rich. They have ice. We are each others. There are a million people. I care what else happens: the Kenneth hours, the violation cities, the Erics, the cars. I push us to go swimming in cold water. I blow wind on your arm while you’re asleep. I hear a lot of very quiet breath.
It gets explained as an accident. Who we have to be inside of the conditions. I walk all over for courage. I make it to Nebraska. There are marigolds as far as can be inside me. Little of what makes it to me comes alone. A group of reverends. A safe forest. Behind us, grass like I told you.
To get inside of it, I explain it as closer. The mountain’s distance in sun. A quiet brush. The methods of coming back again. An origin of adults, of places that widen to fit us. What goes through us waits there, opening what’s around it. Some of it is the same forever.