Hope more improbable than magic dogged
Me around, panting as insistently as its buddy
The blues. I rejected the presumption
That we fail when we fail to connect.
If you lie to escape a lie meant to contain you
And destroy you, in what way, tell me, exactly,
Did you, did you die? You can’t not be what
You knew never was at all. The handwriting
Was lying when it sketched across the wall.
Impermanence brings the permanent end.
Everything else is living in ignorance; everything
Is living and ignorance. Nothing is knowing.
Glamorous moon, the name of a ghost,
The hunter high past mid-autumn sky.
Shine little glow worm, glimmer glamour.
I wanted the uncut drug, the overdose
Of the improbable. Why? Because if it comes
To you, statistically pure, the improbable
Validates you, tells you that you had meaning,
The rest of the compulsively lying world be damned.
Thus the dying think to themselves, this may be
The last time I touch this person, see this scene,
But they are wrong, headed as they are
For no time, for never was at all. It’s the longer
Living who will search their memories and say
That, that was the last time we touched the dead.
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