HEAVY

Heaviest is the weight

you can not

see

can not simply pick up

and toss out back

where the big bluestem grows

swallowing things like

old bikes and basketballs

and bad ideas.

The bulk and size 

bound by

late nights

thinking, burning

wound tight

by neural pathways

with synapses

the size 

of planets.

Turn your neurotransmitter

into a dog sled team. 

Tell your head bitch not to diffuse tonight. 

Have her take a rest, get her off the ice, have her sleep by the fire for hours. 

Go for a drive.

Take it easy and slow out to Nerve Fiber Junction and erect a sign

made of sharp-tailed grouse feathers and eastern red cedar

the kind of wood that smells like release.

Write: CLOSED FOR A CENTURY.

Reroute the impulse 

down an old back road 

dusty

wild

rolling.

Lead it to the prairie hills

the undulating manuscript of land

where you are from. 

Watch it transfer

transform

transplace

and expand into your place of joy.

Unload

unravel

understand this:

You are not alone and you are loved.