finding nirvana

at the end of my index fingers
as they rest over my ear openings
a solid pressure to quiet the pounding
.....off the page
& make space for longer days
yet wail the days past
every pulse a new angle of detail
long forgotten landscapes
smell sweet
a liquid green road
comes home
each night
in time for curry

and we always spoke
only in the present
tasted the spice
each moment drawn
out toward the sea
and the mermaid
of songkhla
motionless but watching
for the misstep
& excuses
for choosing the rational
the ego of self-destruction
we knew to be hollow

but now we're past the boundaries
long abandoned
.....the eardrum sings back
.....calling out a last blue streak
.....of day
.....
--- e b bortz