Satori in Shower, sort of by Clayton Lear
There’s a uselessness in my posture, its Bent gleam, the crooked blazing Shoulders and the suds screaming Round my toes roar Towards the mouth of the drain. A wall of warm water rolling over My buttocks is no consolation, Nor the spectre hidden In the breath of a mirror. Above me the light is weakening Blinking Toiling With the dark. There’s a coil of shampoo sinking into My palm when Plumb Darkness, squeezing the last life from The bulb, catches the clapping of water Against the innards of the tub, And scribbles smiles across the faces Of the frowning shadows. And Suddenly, then, when The bulb blinks back to life: A satori in shower, sort of