One Illusion You'd Dispel

If every day you practiced living large –
refused to feel or do or be without
a charge and stab at grabbing at
and barging into reeling contexts
and kaleidoscope-particularities –

you’d find that when you got a cold
and traveled with it through its ravages
and steep ravines and toxic jungles
into all the desolations of its alpine
isolations – and then fully undertook its

harrowing hilarities – surrendering
your being to its vast varieties of sneeze –
alertly rode the thing to its sweet
whizzing soft conclusion – one illusion
you’d dispel is that a cold is only hell.


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