Glimpses, yes; we all know what’s coming.
Oddly moments when no matter
what the antecedent or the outcome.
all gives way to single purposes
for which goals are distilled to purest beverage
in vanity and perceptions reconnoitred,
consumed within themselves, steeped in jaundiced convalescence
to suit the audience and placate the afterbirth of ordeal;
one breathes but one breath before another and then another.
In such a blend in time, thoughts recur,
“I might have died then and there,”
is whispered, but of course, “I didn’t,” and,
“where once I gained, now I’ve seen the cost
and find rewards and consummation wanting
while I am next to nothing in the wake.
I can not recover
what I never had
and did not want.”
Paintings above by Bobbette Rose