You, aesthete of withering words
who pours from gilded bottles of
Everclear:
you seek to revisit
the God answer,
but everything is not 
doing 50 on the blue highways 
paved towards the pyramids.
You will not find anything in the skeleton hands of
a star-nosed mole,
and nothing will look back at you
when your gaze is dragged past the event horizon.
There will be no victory, but
eventually, you will make your home of straw
in the thought that sometimes,
you close your eyes,
and you   
                   can            
                             still          
                                      see.

Published 8th March, 2026.

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