breathe deep

in the sucking depths at the tickertape
of my lung sacs, the little bitty ends
that are like clouds on mountains
inside me

in this interchange where the soup
we walk through daily
turns into little cup holders
and cups of air in the soup
of my blood

at this little cash register of oxygen
a convenience store counter where
product becomes energy
(and people buy cheetos relinquishing small
green spotted cloth squares)

at this matrix
of creation,
where we make peace with our ocean origins
no more womb-gills to replenish us
in this ruddy suckup
inward, i acknowledge
my defiance of ocean origin
and my terrestrial, upright
upstartdom

with this deep breath, i praise my defiance
my land-living, earth-stalking strangeness

and my body glories as it
passes the little coffeecups with lids on
of prana at the corner stores overloaded with
micro super grandes of air
carrying them through the blood
to the thrilled cells and
their vitalizing membranes

this is a coffeeshop of air
i cannot resist,
not too picky, shade grown or organic,
pastoral or cityfumed,
a requisite addiction
life-giving, animating

this

deep

breath



Scooter Cascadia