Chilling

Chill in the sun, homie—an oxymoron.

The sun’s countenance isn’t cold,

And though it is in space,

That’s not its home.

 

But see, you can go outside yourself and radiate.

Man, radiate. Step into the world

Wearing your crooked smile—

Who can tell you you ain’t awesome?

 

Become confident in your balance.

You can walk with your eyes

Half-closed. Feel life around you,

Rather than sit and view it.

 

Let me high-five your soul, homie.

Crack open your peanut shell.

Your interior meat is warm with love and goodness.

So stop chilling, homie, and radiate!


*This poem is available as a broadside and appears in Look Upon.

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