06 Aug Ashley Opheim
I AM HERE
I wish there was a time machine app that I could download to my iPhone for free right now.
I don’t want to do things without thinking and without consequence.
I was raised on slow, dial-up Internet—I was raised on an empty landscape.
I want to go to a yoga gathering in a forest with a bunch of earthly humans who have glow in the dark hearts, and feelings that shine right through their skin.
I am always thinking about all of our heartbeats, how they beat together.
I am trying to find that space between inhaling and exhaling.
I am not a tree and probably won’t be one in my next life.
I want to go to a rave in the sky and dance with an aurora borealis.
I want to braid wasp stingers into my hair and forget everything I thought I knew.
I want to eat magic mushrooms and trip out in the forest.
I want to lay down on some moss with wild things all around me and know that you aren’t here because you hate yoga and nature.
“Fuck nature, I rejected nature,” you say.
I want to have a revelation, so I do. I am a flower.
I want to eat berries straight from the bush and not from some stupid plastic box that I will throw in the recycling and forget to take out on tuesday night.
I will hear the recycling truck roar by in the morning when the sky has orangey-red clouds floating in it and it is that hue that always makes me think ‘apocabliss,’ as in ‘apocalypse,’ but not.
I am so sad and so happy that every second is a new possibility.
Would Buddha use the Internet?
I feel like a snow bank, with feelings.
Do I perceive reality or do I create it in my mind?
My ultimate reality is Twitter and dirty dishes, which kind of feel like the same thing to me.
If I wish hard enough, could I manifest some freshly-baked peanut butter cookies? Could I turn myself into a rainbow or a rich kitten? Can’t I just nap in the sun? Can’t I just be a rainbow already?
I make myself a coffee and kick the recycling bag very hard, but only in my head.
It is still here. I am still here.
I turn the radio on and off.
I eat some berries from a plastic container.
I notice a mirror is missing from the living room and wonder why.
Like, woa, I’m awake and oh well.
Like, hello leg.
God, it would be horrible to get your identity stolen.
It’s a shame we can’t all read minds because then this poem would be over and I wouldn’t need to write anything down.
It’s a shame there isn’t a free mind-reader app I could download.
Oh god, nature is dead.
THIS POEM WAS TAKEN FROM ASHLEY OPHEIM’S FIRST COLLECTION OF POEMS I AM HERE, PUBLISHED BY METATRON.