The higher-ups
have started
extending
pre-fab,
amazed
congratulations—
for managing
to keep your prim
head on straight
and your eyes
on the prize
for this long,
though the truth is—
you haven't
done that.
Truth is, neither
the wide view
nor the close focus
does anything for you;
so to compensate,
you've been
overdosing on
the prosaic
for a while now.
The most exhilarating
way you know how,
is by getting
coffee-high
every day,
and then
walking around town
alone for a
little while to gaze,
not at divine arcing rainbows
or placid treelines
or ennobling architecture, but
at the mercifully coherent,
the completely
sufferable way
in which
the late morning
sunlight plays
off of basically
any edifice
that's rusticated—
not because there's anything
sophisticated
or significant going on there,
but because, oddly,
your central nervous
system feels stimulated enough to appreciate
that there's nothing difficult,
or elaborate,
or even remotely sentimental about it.
