Wednesday, May 24, 2023

END GOALS

How long have we been 
at our desks 
tweaking the plots

of dreams we 
have yet to dream—
working them, 

kneading,
until we feel 
we can smell 

some faint form
of sweetness 

rising from 
their shells, 

passing right through 
and all around us, 

and then, 
just as quickly
leaving? 


It's so much more productive 
to catalog 
the physical: 

electrons 
and up quarks; 

protein strings 
and ribosomes—

simple units 
of fungible meaning 

that only mean 
themselves.


Self-love 
is a destination 

the same way 
a mirage is:

a brutally-born
hallucination 

which ardently 
beatifies 

the tyranny 
of distance.