Naila Keleta Mae

Psychic Trash

I'm throwing out my psychic trash
driving it across
the old michigan line
hauling it down
to the southern most tip of south africa
hoisting it up
quarenta y nueve cobblestone steps
and with eyes locked
on an endless horizon
i will deposit my burdens
into colliding atlantic and indian oceans

'tis time to demarcate new space
no more murky molded askew meditations
rotted reeking residue
no more defecating in dream space

no more placating back-bitting clamouring
petty indulgences in insecurities
fears and other fits of folly

no more vortex of self-sabotage
engaged in an impoverished
self-deprecating internal monologue
laden with socialized self-hate

i'm throwing out my psychic trash
short circuits will be rewired
disconnects are on the mend
so i'll fear not tires running flat
nor des pannes d'essences
i'll fear not future present nor past
check mirrors merely periodically
for i have dwelled in rear and side views
and i know each time i crash
and so today
i'm throwing out all my psychic trash

some call me dusty faded grey
i call me
understated enduring arctic silver
with rust on my rockers
stone chips on my windshields
paint peeled off every panel
with a clutch that will slip
when old habits make me stall
but the engine of this 1977
will roar like a brand new bmw

i'm throwing out my psychic trash
though i don't recall myself without it
never fed myself steady diets of
acceptance respect and care
but i will envision
the reemergence of a
cosmic tropical fall flower
rooted in the ether
petals uncurled to the world

shimmering like first frost
crystallizing moments in amethyst
turquoise healing royal hues
eyes made of prisms
tongue a lascivious lustre
soul sculpted from water
diamonds spilling from my palms

dazzling

insha'allah
i will be

dazzling