Got my ears coned, bones cracked,
my blood cleansed of heavy metals,
got my aura shined up, good as new,
my chakras lined up like I like ‘em,
got my wheat belly licked at last,
my downward facing dog down pat,
got a Reiki Master to free up energy,
my caffeine enema, my neti pot,
got my Alexander Technique and Pilates,
my guided re-lax-a-tion, even
got my old-fashioned positive thinking,
my angels and sense of community,
got my spinning into “coregasm,” which is fun,
my oh my, but also kind of embarrassing,
got my detox tea and some vegan chicken,
my giving back, paying it forward, sort of,
got my primal scream when I go full paleo,
my bone broth, buffalo meat, brontosausage,
got my ginger juicing and buckwheat groats,
my steel-cut oats, turmeric and cherries,
got my no GMOs a-go-go, all locally grown,
my free-range eggs, my thankfulness,
got my counted blessings and “spirituality”
(my God, what’s that even mean?),
got my craniosacral ring-a-ding-ding,
my mindful meditation most of all, baby.
Got to let your thoughts go, so says
my therapist, but I find myself thinking,
Thoughts are my bread and butter, honey.
Look, here they are in this very poem.
Besides, didn’t you ever dig Descartes?
I think; therefore, I am unhappy?
I know it’s not inner peace. Still,
got my thoughts. That’s something.
