After the roller coaster’s last resuscitational
breath,
I'm alive again. After my concussion's blunt thump
of an introduction, I guess I'm alive. After sex has lost its cycle of
expectation, I must be alive, again resurgent and thensome. Tugging at me
inside my head, helium balloons, filled with rational thought, making my eyes
look up, foolishly tethered to story and consequence. Inside my body, the hands
of my heart let go of it all. Alive again. Waving good bye to the train of my
thought. I'm alive. Now, admittedly impoverished from cultivating oh so precocious
desires. Maybe my joy is only joy remembered and experience like this only
mends me. No, I'm drunk again. My conscious attention reeks with intoxicant
bliss. My body slipstreams off this tippy-levitational-toeing. I'm alive again,
with trust on the tip of my upturned nose, feeling blessed into ripe
buffoonery. To pull up the chair of myself and playfully sit a spell. Washing
it down with long visual sips of a cloudless sky’s aliveness. Yup, I’m fully alive
again . . .
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