Sunday Afternoon (Is This What Dying Feels Like)

The Sun is warm
as it reveals the world
to those who would discover it

It casts shadows, too;
it creates mirages
when it burns too bright

It blisters skin,
it boils out moistures,
it saps all fight from a man

And I am thankful for its light
And I am fearful of its shadows
And I wonder, is this what dying feels like?

Would that I could find an answer
But only the dead have it
And the dead I know don’t say a word

on josh at harvey’s

josh said “what?” to himself
dipped in disgust as we
crossed the boulevard

sometimes i use my body
to play with the universe

josh was disgruntled with
as some can be,
raised in a modern
anal retentive middle
white class up-

that too is the murky
gene pool i awoke in

josh would talk freer
and more openly with me
when i used my body
to play a human-being

just like at my job where
i tickle change from pockets

that night and through
alcohol he would forget
even more that i was actually
light newly freed from the
sun talking his language
and reminscing on
being human

and i like having friends
it multiplies the

let those who are cold go inside

but since this sun’s shining
i’m stepping off this sidewalk
i lie flat on my back on the grass
let the wind light leaves
kiss sweet my eyelids
until compelled i open them
and view the vast blue sky through
these tangled branches bared bravely for winter

on the horizon:
i aspire to be those contrails
to drift and disappear

Can you believe this country?

no matter how i try i can’t
get over the sun i can’t
grasp this crispy air i can’t
pass by a shadow without awe i can’t
digest the portion size i can’t
while seated on clean grass i can’t
i can’t i can’t i can’t i can’t

and i’m loving every minute