I think I'll scrape the rougher encrustations off my day
today and stay somewhere beyond the ego’s pale: catch up
with Hill and Dale – leap over Hill, make love to Dale. Or play
the enigmatic Melville whale and be whatever that entails –
cut living into tender meat and eat it, flow as unencumbered
by bewilderment as I can choose to be; let all neurosis be
unthinkable and sadness, news to me. Doesn't mean I'll opt
for gladness: merely skim the waters with a slick bare skin,
be fodder for each cosmic whim (is there another way
to swim?). I cannot buy into the aims I see around me
anymore. I don't adore one thing I notice others do.
And so today, and possibly for longer: toodle-oo.