I'm thinking

I'm thinking of the way jeans crinkle around the ankle when they are slightly too long
I'm thinking of the spider that must have crawled all over my legs while I was sleeping
I'm thinking of that poem I thought about writing on the way back from the tennis court yesterday and how now I can't remember what I wanted it to be about
I'm thinking of suffering, of course
I'm thinking of how even if my life sinks to the lowest point it possibly can, that even that is not that low, that I will never know what truly low feels like
I'm thinking of legs and arms and limbs intertwining
I'm thinking of how Elliott Smith killed himself and I'm not even sure what decade that was in (I think the late 90s)
I'm thinking of road trips I want to make and the summer writing program at Naropa and how I could still register if I wanted
I'm thinking about the way the wind ripped my soul out of me yesterday and then returned it to me after dancing it around me
I remember how that felt
I'm thinking about dementia and not knowing the name of your son
I'm thinking about what to read next
I'm thinking about inside skull being as vast as outside skull
I'm thinking it's funny that I didn't know what to write about and here I am, still writing
I'm thinking about "brilliant sanity" and Buddhist psychology
I'm thinking about Frank playing himself in chess and always letting his left hand beat his right hand