find your doom wherever you keep it

under the bed, in the cookie box, freezer, underwear drawer

abdomen, lower back, shoulders, migraine.

 

take your doom and put it in a box, jar or yogurt container. seal it.

now walk somewhere. perhaps the canyon,

stream, mountain, starbucks, silver lakes

pacific ocean, neighborhood bushfire, tasman sea.

 

dispose of the box in whatever manner you feel.

watch your doom fly, float, burn away. decompose away.

 

go home. 

 

take a shower and stand there under the nozzle, spigot, bucket.

scrub off the dead skin, callous, sunburn, vanilla lotion, scars.

pay attention to the palms of the hands. rub them red.

 

take a q-tip, wet it with the tip of the tongue (an old trick)

clean your ears of lint, that one song, secrets

screaming babies, misdemeanors behind closed doors

sweet nothings, car horns, fuck you’s, fury.

 

clean the mouth with soap- or whatever is handy.

lemonade, whiskey and ginger, apple juice, tea, coconut.

swig water, gargle. spit out 

coffee breathe, promises, trite lyrics, 

snide aftertaste, sour comments, sneers.

 

wash eyes with water or saline solution.

cry out your mother’s smile, a burning man, 

yellow flowers, bedroom ceilings, the sea when it rains, 

their eyes up close, plates broken, the yard punches, 

missing arms and legs, held underwater, a dead dog.

 

find a space big enough to extend limbs.

shake, jump, whirl, scream, pound, cry, laugh, dance

bow, dangle, sneeze, bluster, bumble. sit still

 

look in the mirror, window, Imac reflection, waterglass.

don't adjust but notice.

you took care of yourself.

 

go outside or inside and be

with one, three, ten or fourteen billion people

take care of them now.