“Autobiography”

I brisk walk with the breeze every morning. By noon I am the ardor of a tornado. I am born on the last Sunday of every month. I am working on a film adaptation of Hallelujah. My soul is as unexplored as the abyssalpelagic zone of the Pacific ocean. I am the dust on the roof of an abandoned car in the Square One parking lot. I am driving my daughter to school. I always carry an extra set of sobs in the dashboard, in case there’s a funeral for hyacinths along the way. At seventeen, I skinnydipped in a sea of semicolons and emerged a Satanist. I often wake up screaming in iambic pentameter. I am the hue of this sunset as seen from my blue-cut glasses. I am weeping. Tired of gadding through my daughter’s dream to ward off bumblebees, I find some rest in her pacifier. I dig up Leonard Cohen’s grave and ask him, Did you love being Leonard Cohen as much as I would have loved to be Leonard Cohen? As a meditation exercise, I concatenate all my failures with inhalations, regrets with exhalations. I convince squirrels to be calm. Discovering we are both allergic to maple syrup, I enroll my daughter for ice hockey before she learns to walk. I am wearing a mask of my own face. An avalanche shaves its beard in the mirror of my eyes. I struggle to clasp the reason for my existence. I am the seventh midnight of March. I am three forevers away from being immortal. I am a Russia-sized cloud. I am the Québécois-French accent divorced from my daughter’s tongue. I am a bluejay except for the days I am a gray jay. I am writing my biography as one long quiz. A pencil is not even on the list of my favorite weapons. I ask Siri if we’ll survive the rise of fascism across the world, but she is out on a date and does not respond. Bored I go to the terrace and look down on the sun for giving us cancer. Phosphenes dance across my vision in bright bursts of violets. The sun rolls its eyes. I drive the sun to Niagara Falls and hurl it off the edge when it’s looking at the horizon. The moon has a nervous breakdown and fills an application for therapy with Orion. I am waiting to witness the rare syzygy of my mind, body, and soul.