Pseudo-Transcendence
When I step into the too hot shower
and feel the steaming water thunder
over my shoulders, flattening
my hair in warm streams,
I wish this was my whole life.
The shining aluminum tile
and holy white curtain
would make up my landscape,
shielding me from the stress and fear
and worried responsibility
that lies outside.
I want the patter pounding on my skull
to drown out family noises
leaving only the sensory rush
of stimulated skin under heated falls.
Let that be everything, all there is.
No Psycho paranoia
or auto-erotic fantasy,
Not even Farrell's contemplation,
that some may attach to this sanctuary.
Just me, cleansed by the torrid sprinkle,
and the puerile scent of soap
eternally melting under the kind deluge.
(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006
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