So, ennui.
Aren’t we?
Just dripping with tepid ambitions?
I said: “get up.
go dip your feet in the air.
would it reject me?”
“I can’t budge for your screaming–
malicious ear-ringing.
Just go back to sleep and you’ll know
the color of the weather that dreads you.”
I don’t call you a nihilist,
or even bored of marginal burdens.
Smaller versions of our petty aversions
have driven whole worlds!
to the brink of anathema
but regrettably
punishment has only ever been
morning after lamented morning.
I think we’re God;
corporeal, plus a little more,
and blessed of the deep blues and forevers.
Anything that could be summoned by name
was created the same;
endowed with meaning by spit and recitation.
I called your name
“Lover. Lover. Lover.
Where does it hurt?”
but you're too
strung out on crutches, hot baths, and Klonopin.

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