Consider the word “ecstasy” in its strict sense, a Greek word that describes standing outside of one’s body.
It seems like a tragedy to go through life not knowing the names of the lights overhead.
Last night I dreamt about a god who was angry because the noise of humanity prevented him from sleeping.
These days I walk to the market like I’m about to commit a poorly-planned crime.
And so much space there’s nothing to think about except something resembling god.
Dig the old lady who cut a tiny hole into her surgical mask so she can keep smoking her Benson & Hedges.
We wear bandanas and scarves across our mouths like a haphazard gang or makeshift religion.
Sirens and cheers, these are the sounds that shape our days.
I thought I’d devote my energies to becoming pure and benedictine, brand new and all-seeing. Instead I scroll and refresh.
Now they’re saying the virus spreads by talking and breathing. We can kill each other just by being a person.
Passing each other on the sidewalk, we hold our breaths like children in a graveyard.
