be a text block
of narrative,
but day-to-day
life feels more
like enjambment:
some snatch
of it starts out
making sense—
then it doesn't—
then it
does again,
looking back.
*
Destabilization's constancy
somehow leads
to satisfaction
if, and only
if, it's temporary.
Picture willingly
submitting to
the opiate of sleep
without presuming
(from experience)
you'd later
overthrow its tyranny.
*
The reader and the writer
must meet
in the mirror—
must combine
to create the totality
of feeling
so desperate and dumb
for the pleasure
of completion, yet
filling up further
and faster
with regret
the closer
to the end they get.
