Monday, October 23, 2017


At the end
of the line, there aren't any lines.

at the edge of every 
demarcation on the graph, 

such a delineation 
does not exist 

and the once obdurate
frontier, as if curdled by fear 
of its own fixity 

will curve back 
on itself, like looking for comfort 
in some less ostentatious past

like the tail of some 
'fraidy cat.

from your journey—you too, 
will likely find

there never was 
any such trip;

your life has not been 
some straightforward expedition, 
and it's not because

you didn't arrive anywhere 
(no one does that)—

but because
the very first step

so much more 
than every other step 
which proceeded it—that is, 

each step 
took you farther than the next—

and in turn, 
even that very first step
was always 

fated to be
much less significant 
to the picture

the stopping.