Just Do It

Just Do It
but first,
take a few 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 believe
above the three-point line
a second before the buzzer
when "swoosh" comes to shove.