Undertakings and the Undertaker

This avid hunger
for a varied vastness –
intricately, endlessly,
surreally detailed –
wet, breathing, sweating,
spitting, threshing
through innumerable
species of delight –

ennui – despair: this
hunger for an outer
breeding atmosphere
and slyly painted skin
which hints, at least,
at all the roiling blundering
and wondering within –
it can’t surprise you

you must have a city
for your undertakings –
and to be your undertaker
in the end. But one
does muse a bit about
alternatives: might there
be some strange
unforeseen slight bend

ahead in which your
thick interiority becomes
less oceanic and more
clear and thin and cool?
Might you be happy,
then, in the equivalent
of some serene blue pool?
Don’t be a fool.

.