let me begin as designed
(at the very beginning):
The unknown story contains / all possible themes
cheapens the experience. kindly know that is not
my intention. if I have an intention.
There’s no place like the internet in springtime!
and old things are respectful in their pastures
and only argue over if it’s best
to let the snow melt or to make it melt.
Vapours turn to rainbows and are praised
while flowers breathe out oxygen for days.
Wait, am I thinking of the internet?
Oh, maybe not, but what I’m thinking of
is desperate and very, very like it.
gently understanding that
the internet is made of sweet
eccentricities, that are not
always entirely valid
but seem to be
forethought, but through a common chance of life.
story never needed forethought to be intelligible
I do know that the urgency,
the panting urgency to finish,
without a deadline or a reason,
is what we call a ‘modern sickness’.
and you look up, for once it’s you
who’s drifting in relation to I cannot tell you why I find this strikes into my heart
the sky. For once you listen
to yourself when no one else does.
I don’t know what I learned.
I still hope I’ll learn something
(but the hope is dying back)
You’ve been confused,
but you’ve never been lost.
I feel pretty lost
You don’t have to be told how valuable your time is, and that
includes your time on earth.
things we need to hear and
in many places sound
not sure if
it isn’t (but)
It’s obscene to say yes. It’s depressing to others to say no.
It’s inauthentic and invertebrate to say maybe.
often pressed to answer, and it is comforting
to know that no answers are right, all wrong.
When you’re happy you have a responsibility to those who no, I’m sorry, not me;
are unhappy I reject paying obsequience to those less lucky than I
to do your best with it. Even if it ends badly. does that make me a bad person?
it always ends badly, that’s the nature of things
it’s just a matter of time
from the minute when the lights came on in town
to the hour when the lights went out in houses.
It’s: Why did it feel normal somewhere else?
I’m thinking about, soon,
or maybe even next time,
communicating with you.
it’s not strange any more
but not this time, nor the next
will I dare to reach out; not yet
Let it gaze at you in that easy way the immortals have.
‘For you, eerie friend, I’ll never cry and never pity,’
you’ll say. And with the psychic energy you’ll save,
you can know yourself ten percent better or learn to keep bees.
by the way, given that
there’s no context but
either way: I choose
somehow lasting forty days.
a passing reference to those things I cannot bear to speak of
(it’s spoken of too often)
In the bleak midwinter
there is so much to consider