Inhale the thousand colors
of invisible fumes
split through a polluted prism’s gasoline sheen.
Sing a note that trembles
your eardrums like monks chanting in your sinus,
like river cracking through stone.
Sit on the toilet until your legs fall asleep so bad
you feel nothing, then everything,
like millions of suns popping in your ankles.
Freeze the world to a photograph,
smells blending like smoke across faces
you immortalize into sculptured ideas.
Mould the dirt into a pineapple.
Cut a tree open with the scalpel of your eye.
Read the symbols feathered onto the pottery of a bird’s wing.
Eat the anticipation of a hamburger.
Fuck the hole of imagining fucking.
Fuck your own mind into a thousand realistic portraits.
Release all control of your motorbike.
Flow like a dumb fish
in a sea of metal and endless currents.
Hear the series of language we call being,
the lilt of the soft palate as you touch her arm,
the glottis lumping for a pup that will die in the woods.
Feel how the whole of existence slurs like one magnanimous diphthong.