To Vacation in Purgatory
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
