touch

reaching out to touch something
feeling a texture
seeing form behind closed eyelids
and making sure the door is closed
to avoid any and all interruptions.

hearing the television softly in the background
silence is nothing more than a collection of sounds
chanting softly behind the curtain
nam myoho renge kyo
with touching index and middle finger tips.

eastern bullshit?
don't make me laugh, I'm trying to concentrate
on the hibiscus with the worm eaten hole in it's petal
and I see the next layer
there is yet another chewed hole.

for a moment I am bold enough to dismiss such a blossom.
it's imperfect.
until I realize that through those holes
I can see the body of the bush
and the soil from which it grew.

holy shit. that's deep.
I'm not zen.
I'm no buddhist monk.
I don't know what the fuck I'm doing
accept for letting my mind wander.

let it go where it wants.
let it say what is pleases.
give permission to lose control
and something gained
if only two minutes of nothing particularly exciting.