After two weeks of thinking minimalist,
talking minimalist, breathing
I dream of buying groceries
in a superstore,
cart loaded beyond capacity
with health food, with junk,
with ice cream
I worry will melt
in the time it’s taking me
to collect every edible thing
they have here,
and on my way to check out,
I pass the clothing
section and see a jacket
hanging there, calling
me, and I know you
are wondering
if I mean literally
because this is a dream,
but it was the ordinary
kind of fabric
without mouth, speech,
or telepathic
abilities, and the simple
truth is its beauty
seduced me away from my cart
of slowly rotting food,
and I whisked it and myself
to a dressing room
nearby and hurried into it,
staring into the mirror
and not seeing me at all
anymore, only that
jacket, that fashionable
touchable object
which was everything
I hate in my awake
apparel, a mix of pink
and white making up
the bulk, then black
sleeves, but not
just black, because
when I looked closer
I saw the sleeves
sparkled from wrist to shoulder
with glitter, such glitter,
so much glitter
I choked up,
completely lost
a second, knowing only
the insanity
of a universe
where it was possible
I could possess
this perfect,
lay down my money
and my morals
and walk out
the stars.