What possible pretense for the shock,
jump- thump of heart hit – what possible pretense for the teeming, reaming, hulk of
bulk, looming, zooming a re-route of sun sunk to deep shadow as you stand – Golemic-humanoid hypodermic huge in hand, my would-be-drip-drug of despair–destroying
all that was – demolishing all that could come to be - casting a challenge to
trust the simple certainty of a single next
breath. What possible pretense for it all?
None.
And so, in spite of all – I shut my
eyes to your new-normal present, reach behind to
the joy of the past, and inhale in great gulps of sweet air - the promised future-to-come. Beyond
the dearth.
