To Do

Selling your favorite shirt doesn’t have to be hard.

List it, package it,

send it to a better home.

Try not to obsess over your credit score.

Buy coffee for two,

carry that drink as far as you walk.

Give your friends free haircuts.

Sweep up the remains,

bury them.

Friday nights don’t have to be Homeric.

Iron out your second-favorite shirt;

listen to the voices crackle in your ears.

The best smiles are in the dark;

windows open, shutters drawn.

The morning chill is worth the nightly comfort.

Let your body become animated wax.

Don’t apply value to everything you take in,

bite into pears straight from the tree.

Feel the sting of things ending.

Rip it off like a bandaid,

or peel it—slowly.

Feel other, lesser stings.

Bruise each of your hip bones,

bump into the banister while you’re running.

Being a moral arbiter isn’t a requirement.

List out what you care about,

wonder how you could possibly fit the composite on one page.

What is intimate is chosen.

What is sacred is learned.