I’ve come a long way. All these circuitous short circuits
and postmodern illusions of grandeur
without point or purpose.
(i’m blue as a goddamn porpoise, and everything is tinged with involuntary hate)
Mirrors asking: why am I so surprised
that everything is cast in shades of gray? every
principle has decomposed
into past-participles and particles of uncertainty?
It wasn’t supposed to be this way;
but every day is a testament to the omnipotence of infinite
and disorganized osmosis,
and somehow my goal obsessed [theoretical] magnum opus
has brazenly become apathy.
Irony never suited me
as I’d hoped it would.