I do not pretend to master my fate
I feel my insides gradually vanish
(leaking slowly into other dimensions)
And my skin become translucent
(as my pores become fully porous)
And my mind become tubular
(a protosensitive, pregnantly empty conduit)
And I am flooded with a rush
that I could never contain
(even if I were still with my formerly solid grasp)
that washes me like my great-great-grandma
washed her daughters’ clothes in the river
(violently, lovingly, deeply)
And I am smoothed and polished like a river stone
(cleansed of consciousness’s claws and burrs)
And I am ready for the world to seize me,
possess me and propel me
(beyond my stagnant state, into a formless shape)
