yet the game is
complex—
it's not
that we don't want to die,
but that we actually can't.
These names attached
feel so clever, so singular;
each word
conveys no sense
of reconstituting
past.
If now is always now,
you contend, then the leaving
will not be registered.
Beyond you, ceaselessly,
somewhere, the ocean
is crashing
but there's no pain
to the impact,
no ennui in the sighs,
no bereavement
in the heaving.
So why are you running so fast
to kill
hunger pangs
for an afterlife?
Why are you not trying
instead
to copy that?