Existential Sticky Buns

We’re not sure, but it may be

nobody goes away.
Perceptions spill into and play

with the imagination as they

always do and we construe
and make each other up

the way we’ve always done:

at whim and will. Arguably
here or no, in fact we never go –

always larger than our sums:

ephemeral amalgams –
existential sticky buns.

Spinning in infinity’s vicinities,

we’re always on the spot.
Hard to see sometimes,

but when was any of us not?

No one’s dead or gone.
Someone’s had us on.










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