you can't lose
any more luck,
when the worseness
of things
cannot be increased—
when you're as soaked
to the bone
from the oncoming storm
as you can possibly be—
when you think you've lost count
of the number of pain receptors,
multiplied by the versions of you
in alternate universes—
something as simple
as the distance
between 0 and 1
verses 1 and 100
expressed in integers
rises
like another moon
in your brain
to remind you:
there's no end
to the endless;
infinities
can yet be added
to infinities.
And even though the realization
doesn't go
any deeper,
you cannot help but
realize it again
and again,
as you gawk
at the endless sky
and the boundlessness
of your hopelessness
increases.