you do not have to follow the wrinkled map on your palm.
you do not have to float down flow charts and fafsa forms.
you only need to stay under the influence,
of love's natural barbituate.
meanwhile the world sits, stands, speaks when they are told.
meanwhile they drop to their knees before god.
their lucid hides undulating,
on the floor of the altar.
meanwhile they combat their surges of racing heartbeats,
with slow rhythmic breathing incompatible with panic,
and esophageal spasms and heat flashes and pica ticks.
whoever you are, remove yourself from the floor,
glue together your aching shattered patellas,
stand with knees locked unwavering,
like old trees against the restless
winds of life.