How to Meditate

when my thoughts, ever
busy with their endless make-work
finally dissolve back into whatever
they had arisen out of to begin with
—but immediately come rushing back

(before that brief, fresh, empty
non-experience can raise its bashful little
Oliver Twist head and ask for more)

—to inform me urgently
these elevator rushing, airport
concourse sprinting, squad car
siren squealing, subpoena slapping
officers of the court, these
offense recounting, defect enumerating
braggarts and ex-smokers, these
pointless hectoring memories and
the things I should have said
and the things you shouldn’t have
these thoughts, like parrots
trained to say etcetera over and over

these thoughts (they’re just thoughts!)
come flying back to me, giving
that rare moment’s peace the bum rush
these type-A personality, mind encumbering
blasted damn thoughts, come
rushing back to say:

how awful it
must have been
without us

and it’s perfectly alright
because (I’ll mention this again)
they’re just thoughts, and there’s
not a single one of them substantial
enough to buy you a drink, or
bail you out of lockup, and will
each and every one, shrink away
like a sun burned fog should you
stop egging them on