ease

used to be i had a thing that passed time, a thing or things or someone i was always on my way to see or dialing the number for. but lately, there is a quiet that gorws out of sunday mornings and spread evenly across the week, sliding over the events i attend or the time spent at work, tapping keys, making calls, teaching teaching teach teachers to teach and pass a day like that. i can literally, so often, watch the day float by the way children watch clouds and like them, i imagine creatures and happenings forming within them. the things that happen are only in my imagination now. the things that happen are real. i am in my imagination.

here, finishing off the better part of an 18 pack of red dog cans, listening to arab strap and feeling oh-so-softly, i am not even banging at the keys the way i normally do. i am lightly tapping them. my typing has become rhythmic and slow, like making love. sometimes badly, but there and movements are all out of the corner of my eye, even the ones i am starring at. even the ones i orchestrate. it seems like i am orchestrating all of the movements now. life is slowing down.

even certain words seem to harsh to use. the harsh words are untypable just now. everything must be careful, as in slow and tender motions of kindness. the kindnesses left stretch on forevever, into green pastures lined with smiling faces, covered by a shade that is too great for branches, too endless for anything that has come up from the earth. i am watching things grow. i am the tides. i am the pull from the moon.

here, somehow, memories make sense in ways i can't explain. i am bound only by my desire to rest here, languishing in the glow of things. i am beyond spiritualism or science fiction. i am softness. i am slowness. my eyes don't blink, they bend closed and slip open again.

the feeling of things is like one imagines the feeling of the womb, safe and simple. all things unto you and from you, but you were steady and motionless. i am motionless. i am still. rest is easy.

but now, with simple closed eyes i am whispering the feeling into your skin. i am the flavor itself. i am the breath that comes into me. i am the falling out of sadness.

even the carpet is alive and teething, it is sprouting careful eyes to watch me as my mind slips into a peace i know only carefully, but well. sleep is chasing me. i am certain of the time without having seen the clock. tonight is a gesture of slowness. and i am a part of that. it is a part of me.

i remember as a child sweeping the mowed grass from the sidewalks, and here, now, i can almost hear the sound of the broom brushing across the cement and dancing with the grass that was left free from the mower. this is the tenderness that one looks for on the off chance it might exist. i am what i have been searching for. i am the searcher. but softly searching. in a minute i will move into my bedroom and lay down with the ease of a man so without limits that he has no need to test them. i will sleep and dreams will come as things do when the time for them arrives. the time is always arriving somewhere. and now, so am i.

2004-06-14 | 11:16 p.m.
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