Almost Over

REMINGTON GRAVES

Have a seat, exhale, tilt your head to the right, now the left, inhale…slowly. Now lean in a little. Don’t forget to blink from time to time. Follow these words. Allow them to take you away–if for a moment, elsewhere. Keep in mind a proper posture. Allow the noises that surround you to numb you sweetly like subtle static. Let yourself shrink to a molecular size and drive at the beginning of these sentences; up, down, sharp points, humps and angular edges. Letters are ghosts now representing sounds gathered here today in unholy matrimony. Tier after tier producing the perfect point, tugging at the truest tear, alarming the allegories from their alleys, roaring at subconscious fears far at the rear. You don’t need to stand and break for anything, you’ve grown accustomed to short strides. This strange journey is what I recommend to transport you to a jubilant recovery of recalcitrant retreat. The blood flow in your veins is now slowing down in defiance of the terrible traffic in the distance. Your eyelashes brush each other ever softly. Like a child your heart beats newly. Pastel colors humming in. This piece is almost over. Don’t forget to kiss your bride once done, check your text messages, see if life is better for you on social media, smoke another cigarette, urinate, look out the window without wondering and wanton, make a fist with your left toes, inhale sharply  and pretend it’s now a nervous tick, ignore the ozone layer, worry about money, think about losing weight, remind yourself to trim your noise hair, start flossing someday, read a book completely, call a familiar voice on the telephone, eat more vegetables, and hum along to the next song that comes on–whatever song it may be, so you’re not alone–alone with everyone.

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