By: Erickson
I stripped my three bags to the wooden floor
That had sat helter-skelter upon my back.
They are packed to the brim.
I have brought my efficiency to every corner of myself.
I open the door to my Airbnb and quickly
Lock the door behind me.
No fear, no intruders, just
Other things have been chasing me.
The bathroom contains lights under the sink.
There is an air conditioner, there is a stove,
A dishwasher.
And my mouth waters at the thought of the glass shower.
My body settles in a differently weighted air,
One where the breath has not been…
Accumulated.
Where it has not been slammed and compressed like my watch.
I lay on the bed, and it wouldn’t have mattered
If the thing was made of needles – I settle.
My arched toes relax in the soft air,
My pounding head receives a hug by fluffed pillows.
I retreat; after existing for only a moment,
I retreat to the restroom.
The hot shower sprays the glass and
Clouds the viewing of myself.
My beard and hair scraggle the same weigh,
The wait on my shoulders has been impatient.
I, lost, homeless, hardworking, breathe. I spend $1,000 to retreat.
Soon to return to the beat of my drum, but for now, I go.
I release every inner muscle.
I go.
And I breathe in a way only monks may do.
I go. I go.
May soap scrub my beaten soul.
I go.
I settle in San Diego.
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