Landing In A Migration Path

by Shaun Terry

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Oscillating veins,
wriggling beneath tepid flesh.

Vapors radiating
from the trunk of the man’s head.

“Loosen your shoulders,
breathe deeply,
free yourself of consciousness
for as long as you can allow.”

And in various moments,
everything is phosphorescent,
organically producing Vivaldian harmonies,
and even the frowns of curmudgeonly old men and angst-engorged teenagers
are really just smiles with a veneer of something playful.

Everything returns,
like geese to a field.

There is no “valley” conjured up by any clever,
oblivious ego;
much less a “pit.”

But there is no sort of apex, either.

There is more than
the obsolete spin cycle,
or even any archaic spiral.

There is something more focused,
more predictable,
less volatile.

Even this won’t last forever.
Everything is gentler now.

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