“To Filter Further Yet”
To filter further yet, more to face rejection in the stump
From critical mass to that same point at which
The thing desired no longer throws the switch
And victory in itself means nothing; trumped
By circumstances, drowned by waste of what emerges
From the corners–smothering quotas in the day,
Declensions of dissembling strokes along the way—
These devour meaning and attention as audits surge
Like halos above the man left standing on the box.
Golden laurels placed so lightly on the brow
Of every passing braying ass and every anointed crow allow
The novice need and possibly ambition in the days ahead:
What greater sorrow than achievement of the goal, a score
To end all scores long after winning matters anymore?
…painting by Heldwein…