Calming exercise for the 21st Century
I know it’s getting late, my friend
time unlikely
to untick itself. But let me tell you
about air.
They say a horse’s lungs, inflated
could fit a fullgrown man.
(Snug nut in beastly shell.)
Your lungs can feel as free, if
you bathe them in the bromide
of a primal scream. Now
they say a laugh can be a balm
too, but not in days like these.
Besides, my fears are piglet-fat
and know that laughter doesn’t
rhyme with slaughter. So,
ready? Fill the cartridge
of your voice. Breathe
in and in and ever-in—
—eat air until it feels
like when you were a kid
chewing the wind in winter.
All goggleyed, throat smoking
at how a flake will coat
a city. Inhale
the bitumen, burnt vowels
the tickertape hate, consume
it all until the cartridge is full.
What comes out, well
I’m curious myself.