Listen to any cassette from Janushoved,
let the hiss be holy,
let Internazionale’s The Opaline Dancer
teach you how to be alone in stereo.
Drink a crisp can of seltzer
on an aimless walk —
in the perfect world,
you end up in Fort Greene Park
with a friend who carries
a deck of cards and no expectations.
Commit to the bit
for as long as humanly possible.
Robert Creeley once said
humor is what happens
when we realize we’ve run out of armor.
So take off the costume.
Be funny.
Be defenseless.
Find a book — any book —
by Waldman or O’Hara,
Michals or Myles,
anyone who loved too loudly
and photographed it later.
Carry it with you like proof
that beauty once existed,
and maybe still does,
if you’re willing
to look ridiculous enough
to notice it.