It’s amazing where my mind goes as I stand above gurneys. One time a large Mylar balloon. One time arterial red. One time I’m an opossum in the parking lot, oil sparkle early morning, skulking beneath cars. The first shift nurses feed him donuts and cigarette butts. The opossum mind I admire, the way-out, unhinged and pointing. What do you think when you’re playing dead? One time they found me in the custodian’s closet. What the hell you doing in there? Nothing. Just taking my break, my 15 minutes, just breathing—inspiration, expiration. Sometimes I go far away; feel like the atmosphere. Lysol and wet mop. Dank air, darkness. I just close my eyes and inhale. Here’s one way to chart a pulse: draw two eyes, a dot for a nose, a smile in the center of the zero.
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