Lost

Lost

Tomorrow
I will get of bed,
(Probably alone)
Out of luck without my lucky coin
And I will drink too much coffee,
Then I will touch my kidneys and liver
and thank them for bearing with me for another Friday night, another week.
I will go get lost on the streets as I often do
I’ll follow the music to a back ally in North East
or trust a cat with directions
or follow a plastic bag to a carnival
and oh
look
I am lost.
Once that’s done
Once I have nothing to lose
My hands will grow conscious
and I will love it
and I will cry out of joy
flowers will grow on my cheeks
my chest will be a botanic garden
I’ll teach an elephant how to fly
and my cat will play the harmonica on G
My dad will bake a cake
and my mom will practice law
my sister will be a child once again
And the linear world will be lost in my poem.
(Look a goat is teaching grass how to tango
and Walt Whitman is married to a tree
and there are no cars on the streets
and I have a woodpecker for heart)
Oh how much I love when I lose my mind watching the grass tango.
Don’t worry
I’ll find my way home, I always do.
Then I will buy flowers,
(Oh how I love buying fresh cut flowers from the flower man on the weekends)
Ah…
But it’s Friday now.
and I’ve had too much coffee already,
and I lost my lucky coin when I was running to catch the train,
and the beggar who found it is still out of luck with life.
And I am not lost yet.
Ah to be lost
ah to be never found
ah the space
Ah the freedom!

10.7.16
Peyman
Washington, D.C.