Douse me with camphor smoke like the emerging can't yet walk monkey god Hanuman
Put a tail on me
Douse me some more with smoke
Keep me from falling backward like that Hanuman, that monkey god
The offerings floor is wet
The steps are wet
The reenactment of Hanuman
And a hundred more reenactments
Are going on inside
It's a spectacle like we're a spectacle
With our light skins
But we've started to belong here
Leaving hurts us
And it hits you
Hours of waiting and counting
Make it sad
There's fresh still air around here
And dusty air coming in here on an insistent fresh breeze
Stronger than fresh
For me it carries threat
Don't ask I can't tell
The threat of danger and impermanence?
The threat of disease and intransigence?
What if it blocks the sun when you say goodbye?
Tomorrow I leave, packed, racked, abandoned, abandoning
Insinuation and installation, investment and attention. Done.
How do I leave?
Soldiering on? Picking myself up? Detaching myself? Erasing my time here? Plucking? Dragging? Extricating? Extracting?
More like scouring. Scouring the place of my ownership. Scouring the place of my ownership by occupancy. Scouring me of my ownership, of my occupancy. Of my occupation.
More like sucking up the bits of liquid where they fell in a porous matrix, a matrix of lava rock or sandstone, or just screening
How to make this finality happen?
It will. No matter what I do.
But I'm too soft too melted
Too absorbed and too absorbing
It doesn't feel like time to go
It doesn't feel right to go
It doesn't feel good to go
How about don't go?
Even a princess pie could remove itself better With less self-absorption
More fairly distributing its pieces
More triangulation Less messiness.
More good humor