The pursuit (maybe) is like airport baggage claim.
Walls of tired bodies crowd the armored conveyor belt.
Travelers scrape shins. Luggage carts crowd calves.
Always, always, always: it takes far too long.
Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. Only
pursuit. I wanted to start yesterday,
or the day before.
Bro-shrink says put in the work. He suggests
aim at contentment, ignore transitory-happy.
We talk next right thing, talk doubt as useful fuel.
We talk money as time, at current exchange rates.
Talked use wealth. We debate life in efficient boxes.
How do you value plastic laugh-track lives?
Why pay for gates and guards?
Why aspire to vacuum-sealed American
Loneliness? I think (maybe) let life’s conveyor belt
bear gifts unexpected.
The front porch of your emotional landscape
littered with Amazon boxes.
A dark, wool-scratch weight in one brown box,
alongside some butter-smooth pears you pursue.
