Just Do It

But first,
take some deep breaths,
give a salutation to the sun
(or the tempest if it likes you,)
take a vacation in Liliputia,
have a Brobdingnagian breakfast,
visit the coffee-house turned fish-shop where your parents met,
smoke a joint in Stearns Cemetery at the bewitching hour,
cycle up and down the mall escalators
bathing in the brackish neon brilliance,
ponder how God as you don't understand him might judge your
action,
and stop to smell the cities that rose from the cracks of the
earth.
For you must be right with the universe
above the three-point line
a second before the end
when "swoosh" comes to shove.