To Vacation in Purgatory

Steven Clifford
The Junction
Published in
2 min readOct 2, 2020

--

To vacation in purgatory,
I pull a waterfall’s slipknot

and enter an alleyway-maze of in-betweenness
where ordinary life exists. I find no city streets,
no reincarnation-booth, transcending to extraordinariness. On one side,

there’s hell on earth. On the other,
there’s a publisher’s future email,

Accepted living, or a rejection-death:

Schrödinger’s cat,

well-traveled through probabilities,

waiting in the dark

for a possible return to the world.

While we can’t achieve immaculate bliss of another life,
we settle with throwing pleasurable little stones,
skipping across day’s pond. How far can my will’s birds —

stalk the trajectory
through sky’s miniature golf course of today’s obligations.

We must play,
to suckle honey-breasts, of impulses
begetting impulses for orgies of success

beyond heaven in the silver city

--

--

Steven Clifford
The Junction

Clifford is a writer and poet from Long Island, NY. He’s “mentally Ill” but considers it a gift with consequences from a generous muse.