By Jordan Bokor Warner
The days move slow...
like, maybe, calling an old friend on the telephone
or eating a soft delicious bagel
chewing down the chewy goodness
mushing up the raisins between my teeth and tongue
or sitting on the front porch
with my little, white dog
and my little, grey-green typewriter
...and the days move fast like
waking up in the middle of the night thinking about how to sell solar
panels to shopping malls, pollinated sinus headaches of thoughts rushing
swirling in circles bumping into the walls of my skull rattling my
awareness into a barrage of colors and sounds, like
my parents redecorating every room in the house one after the next up
goes the carpet down goes the wood floor or fake wood which kind of sofa
should we get where are we going to hang these old paintings in the new
room stomach turning like a dizzy acrobat circus bus into primordial
churning twisted shapes gut-wrenching feeling flimsy
...and the days move slowww...
like plants growing
in the afternoon sun
in the stillness of the blacktop canvas
or hiding out in the rhododendrons--
a jungle of native shrubs and burlap
in the back of the spring weekday garden nursery--
contemplating Gd, meditating, musing, reading,
settling my body—-the body of my soul--
into the earth—-the body of the Lrd Eternal
or simply forgetting
for a moment
that all this does and does not exist...
or jogging across simultaneous thought patterns of whether I should
exercise or read, strengthen the body or mind, or pray or sit to strengthen
the soul, economic thoughts about about the next fleeting moment always out of
reach and yet somehow always more important than
Now. , breathe...
relax the eyes...
the muscles of the neck...
letting the spine bridge the space between heaven and earth...