We have over-romanticized the idea of intimacy so much
that I cannot tell you any more
how I am going to apply for a plea of release
from all your held up resentments,
your frequent disorientation,
and the constant exhaustion
caused by
pandering to your fantasies
of how you will
someday read Immanuel Kant
and save humanity.
Instead, tomorrow on the long-ended sofas
of group therapy,
we both will complain about
how we have tied each other
too tightly to an escapist fantasy,
and are too fixated on it
to let each other go.
How we are two recovering ego addicts
who have overstayed their duration
in their permanence continuum,
committing petty injustices and chasing afternoon happiness.
In this neo-noir technical age
we keep asking each other
What happens on Monday
when our cardinal sins
of getting easily attached to other people
will be put forth in front of the jury.
And in a town made up of jests, whims,
and coincidences, we were blindsided
by Letraset.
and
To leave you now
would mean waking up in
an empty apartment
to a new ruinous regime;
the regime hates technology
the occasional emails, car radios
but encourages
tiny acts of self-destruction.
There are talks of
a statewide
government emergency
due to rising concerns
about the current
prime ministers
growing fears about
how much space there
is around his cuticles.
To escape the
foreboding doom, I hide
in a make-believe funeral home.
And I will keep hoping
that both of us will keep
committing petty, insecure crimes.
and keep wanting to be
reborn as lesser creatures
so we can have a second chance
at something lasting.