Had it not been
for the reckless change,
I’d have legislated more courageously.
I’m inclined toward puerile doubts myself,
and that’s quite a different story
than the one already unspooling
through the fog. Days retreat,
and I only ever get lumpier in the brain.
It’s gratuitous, how easily the vigor drains
from my gaze, thwarted continuously
by ignorant clouds and traffic patterns.
The shading of this moment
happens to be an agreeable one,
but let’s not kid ourselves
and pretend we have everything to order.
The border ‘twixt contentment
and disillusionment is a blurry one indeed.
Let my seed be the one that sunders
the entire earth. I’m worth my salt
when it suits me, rarely.