My breath, pottery in flux
The universe, a crystal of any type
"Shavasana."
And I begin to weep, as the freshly loosened layers of stress begin to fall.
"What is consciousness?"
Entheogens will produce revelatory illusions,
While the Buddhists allay that suffering must be endured.
I'm losing my **** completely anymore.
I mask it by keeping a regular schedule and attending to the wishes of my family, my friends; my hair, my house, my pets.
But my not-boyfriend(s) know.
My yoga teachers know.
This bladder infection knows.

"God is watching me":
A harsh gust lifts my checkered picnic blanket and scatters my beautiful meal into the grass that is filled with systematic degradation, unrealized potential and scattered daydreams.

What
Will
We
Do
With
Ourselves?