Dark clouds across the morning sky,
the Doug fir barely discernible,
Venus nowhere to be found, her
sparkle obscured by circumstance
and there's your poetic metaphor right
there. Do with it what you will.
We can believe whatever we choose
to and where's the sacrifice in that?
I have created gods and goddesses
when looking for a parking place,
who's to say what needs spark
deities and what deities find solace
inside of someone's ragged breath.
There's always dust accumulating:
your dead skin and hair. When
I discovered everybody has
colonies of microscopic mites
living in their eyebrows, I said
except for me. Because how do
you keep it together after that?
Better to delude yourself, of
course. The beams in your eyes
are the only things keeping you
sane. Well, that plus your addictions
which you merely think of as habits,
some of them even kind of healthy, anti-
oxidants and a clear mind, who
could doubt the sanctity of that?
It's not like you're shooting up
drugs or a shopping mall
it's not like you're hurting anyone
(yourself? bah!) better to
have faith in some distant
haven, some comforting afterlife
than this parasitic existence, even
the softest among us realizes this
and those of us left behind
after the rapture, after the migration after
the extinction of each sweet breath
what will we invent to give ourselves one more step along the path?
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