Ginsberg speaks of other worlds.
So loose are his words, connecting himself with a place where all is possible, here, near in our minds.
Shedding my clothing as if I were a cockroach, fearful that ridding my body of it’s external skeleton would reveal only a still-ugly being, feeding off the trash and discards of a larger species.
But- I saw the form I was always meant to have in reflected glass instead: lighter, thinner, freer.
I stepped into what used to be falling shards (scalding water just to feel something).
Now the stream from the shower head beaks like an egg on my skull and golden threads of yolk drip down my new skin.
In the silence of my white-tiled temple, I raise my glistening arms to some karmic force (to a god or to myself) in thanks.
At last peace has returned to places I thought lost forever.