n'existe pas por quoi

 n'existe pas por quoi

because of wrecked truck left roadside and wimpering

a root of bleached reeds, not whispering in wind

indifferences between eastern ignorance and western sin

because of year-end best-of music countdowns 

spent candle contributions at the marble altar of legacy

because of hunger for last trickles of sun on the frame

burnt hand on toaster oven— why scratch an itch?

because of sixty hour down-time from forty hour work-weeks

our contrasting opinions on appropriate beard length

a panicked Embarcadero phonecall, dysphoria mundi

because you swipe swipe swipe rather than fathom untrammeled want-talk

his face an empty stare lit by soft chips of slate light

because sometimes, despite yearning tides of labial warm, neither milk nor honey flow

when you don't pray for something you get nothing

billowing blue hills, compass trumpet, the existence of zinc

because our enemy's poisoned balm is called cute and cauterizing

right actions prove right wisdom so abandonment avoids questioning "how shall we return?"

one last bastion for perimenopausal ass lovers

graceful as deer bounding pasture fences drenched in snow

because on my riverwalk with those mooing crowds the heavens opened and out streamed a choir of white silence

because the conjurer's spree concluded via closing her book

clattering patchwork mantras, smoky city buildings with white walls, red floors

let out your whole ringtone, let it go to voicemail

post-marathon-like chuffing after a downstairs laundry haul

because I'm questioning if it counts as being naked if I am under this blanket