I am largely kept buoyant by minute tidings
Little bursts of happiness unevenly distributed
Throughout my day: the first waft of piping hot coffee
An alluring crease on the smile of a passerby
Lyrics from a beloved song, the glint of life
In Francoise Hardy's eyes as she serenades
Perfect; inescapably perfect moments
The recollection of which
Keep a check on the growing
veil of nothingness in which
I come to cloak myself
Alabaster, clairvoyant glimpses
into the realm of possibility
The ideal state of contentedness
A flimsy bubble reflecting images
Of translucent grasps, quick kisses
The passing of a finger over pale skin
A rush of feigned embarrassment
All these and more as I daydream of loving
Again and again, a brick to the base of my head
The self-harming practice of putting
Too much stock in the golden wisps of the past
And the inexplicably radiant sweeps of the future
I've forgotten how to occupy now
Doomed to a mythical punishment
Of blinders fixed in narrowness
toward reminiscences and hopeful wishes
Bliss is a life devoid of reflection
And waxing prosaic over simple statements
Bliss is a life of tending to the cares
of the moment, and moving sequentially
Bliss is the life of an idiot - -
We are a deeply joyous people
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