I’m curious to what people think
while I stand in the intersection
and take off all my clothes.

My penis presented to the world,
I bend down to touch my toes
and stretch back up, arms to the sky.

Still outstretched I turn three times
like a dog before sleep, centering myself
in the four-way banked by lights.

Lowering slowly, I assume lotus position
facing west, always the direction
home, no matter how long the journey.

Hands resting on my knees, I close
my eyes and inhale deeply, the smells
of exhaust and pollution choking.

I relax. Lights change, cars funnel
around me zipping to their next
important stop during the day;

some close enough to touch, drivers
oblivious, talking on cell-phones,
listening to rock and roll stations.

I can feel the vibrations of tires
and heat radiating from engines,
yet my meditation is undisturbed.

Even when a BMW catches my jeans
and distributes them to a lonely sign
(they affectionately wrap around it),

and a Buick flips my t-shirt effortlessly
into the back of a passing pick up,
which blows my boxers into my face.

I brush them off continuing my mantra
the interruption, not enough to lower
my heightened state of reality.

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