there's exactly
one ecstatic condition
in which I become
my best and truest self—
one state
in which I become
wise and disarmed enough
to stop being charming
and tell it like I think it is—
one beautiful circumstance,
charged with significance
and the metaphoric dynamism
of urgency
coupled with its lack—and it's,
you guessed it:
only when I'm
deplorably alone again
after the goddamn fact.
