Not a Confessional Poem

Her hair is wrought with

spider webs,

the ones that hang from trees

and suspend leaves,

leaves that look like they’re

just hanging in the air, magic.

she stands on a rock, above us

like a big horn sheep

speaking about harm reduction;

reducing our carbon

footprint.

"Then, how do we stalk the people

we love?" I asked;

people laughed uneasily.

and funny questions

don’t provoke any answers,

let alone serious ones.

her horns roll around her ears,

like princess leia buns

but they’re hard and look dangerous,

especially when she paws the ground

like she wants to charge.

Charge us she does, $50

for the morning.

It will be hot yoga after this:

sweat and that buzzing

in the inner ears, the reeling

Feeling of vertigo.

If that’s what enlightenment feels

like, I could have just taken

A gravol.