poemetry

2021-6-8

my own private fantasy land
is the one place i long for.
this real world, so-called,
has only one promise i can depend on,
and certain death is the worst possible of selling points.
i have lived my whole life here.
i am ready for a change.
it’s not eternal life i want;
that’s not possible, however hard i might wish for it.
if that was my desire,
i’d just return to my Jesus delusion.
my desires are more modest,
more meaningful:
the quiet of the absence of modernity.
a nice big kitchen.
room to spread out.
the sky above, clear and open.
a small hot spring to bathe in is not optional.
and more than anything else,
the sound of my breath
whispering to me
that my thoughts are never more
than one version
of reality.

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