Petulance

It's surely not that we can't spot
some reason for a thing: most casts
of mind will find a rationale for their
proclivities: enough at least to scratch

provisionally some small itch
of worrying about why one has done
whatever one has done: but human
agency inhabits an eternity which

puts the lie to causes and effects:
one suspects one's energy is better
angled towards the votive, than
to motive: to laud, exalt and otherwise

immerse oneself in the impossibility
of being clear on being here. And yet
proscriptions make me petulant:
I sigh. I still intend to find out why.


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