All day, every
day—little by little, so you
barely notice,
unqestioningly,
the real world
rushes up
to coddle you.
Without asking,
It quietly numbs
and gently sucks
and melts away—
but with such
deference
and so cloyingly!—
impoverishing
the grand
but astringent purity
of acute possibility
with its bland and edgeless
little packages
of actuality;
each,
like one
of so many
obtuse ice cubes floating,
shimmering,
slowly
diluting
your morning
coffee.
