May 10, 2011


When I think about  
where the dead have gone, 
I wonder 
if they all end up 
in the same hotel,  
if Nothingness can hold them all,
or if some have to wait  
until there is more room, 
like hotel check-in. 
My doctor says
my anxiety runs deep, 
is existential, requiring 
long-term drug therapy. 
He describes this as if 
it were a trip somewhere, 
a chemical ride to relaxation, 
Peace, to a place like  
where the dead are waiting,   
fidgeting in the lobby  
while an over-worked illegal 
scrambles to get their rooms ready. 
Maybe this is what the verse means 
when it describes  
a place being prepared for me.  
I tell the doctor no thanks  
and walk back into the hot sun 
outside his office,  
feeling as though  
I am leaving confession  
without absolution, 
breathing deep, 
the sweat beading on my back,  
trying as hard as I can 
to stay calm, 
to find the Zen place,
to let go.