a life most ordinary

he took a page from the old books,
the ones that sparked him early.
cut up the phrases and sentences
pieced them back together blindly
and turned the world upside down with those missives.

he ran cold with the thought of being.

he opened the chest of collections,
rearranging the contents
looking first at one side,
then the other,
then between the lines
then outside of them.
finding everything there,
he still ran cold
with a thought of being.

he shook the can of possibilities
which rattled like bones.
dry, hard, and dead.
popping the lid off,
he dumped the contents on the ground
and felt them turn to dust beneath his feet.

he bathed himself in the heat of dreams.
the sweat poured off of him,
so he waited until the water became cold
and he could shiver.

he pulled everything from his wardrobe.
bundled up tight with heavy layers against the chill
and went out to the garden of amazing
beautiful fragrant things.
yet he stands frozen in the bright sun
held there by thoughts of being.