most days

Most days

Most days I go downstairs,
And find something wonderful to eat
Like buttered toast
And earl grey tea.

I carry it all back upstairs
With the delightful idea of
Stealing a movie from my dad's credit card
And downloading it from itunes.

Sitting on the floor with my tea and my perfect toast,
I look up at the screen and let the Beauty wash over me.

And now a universe has squeezed its way in
Through the little red arteries in my eyes.
And now the dye shows the doctors things that they couldn’t see before.

And we can see the particular cavities
Where imagination and believability swim around and wait
For other people’s ideas to arrive.
And we can see they are squeezed and prodded and swirled around
Until they are adequate for transfer
To the next piece my brain
The piece that controls the pride and the entitlement and the potential of me.

And we can see that
This second chamber of judgment,
Behind my eyes,
Houses a predictable little response who
Turns up its nose at the
Mutilated bits of other people’s universes
That squeezed their way in through my red eyes.
Because the little response has just received
Word from me and I know that we
Could have created a much more perfect work of art.

Sometimes I take my dirty dishes back downstairs
Thinking about what a genius I am

Sometimes I leave my dishes on the floor
And go downstairs empty handed
But always
Thinking about what a genius I am

I smile as I get more toast
More tea
And do it all over again
Knowing all along that I am headed for greatness
And that all my daily habits
Are somehow helping me to get there.