Nothing feels just right!
Now z-slices the graphs of analytics
while the words you use are like tiny ice baths.
The aroma of spearmint is waiting
in the vestiges of my ache yesterday
or today. To keep a close watch
on this heart of mine. To exercise
caution with chaos because it dims the path.
Morning glory and heart hole - hair smelling
of mesquite and earth and bear.
Find the calm center - nothing is predictable.
Then a musical program with mustard
and strep. This mint. This morning.
This molecule of grace and understanding.
This life. I'll lay back down - too dizzy to run.