A LETTER TO MYSELF
Reminds me
to not let the bastards get me down—to dream
while awake, and allow myself to be swept away,
whenever joy happens to come my way—
conscious of folks I have been kind to today.
I’ll reserve compassion for the paraplegic artist
who can only paint with a brush in his mouth.
Like a traveler from another star, I will remember
to see and hear everything as if it was new.
I must practice laughing at the absurdity of it all.