"For in much wisdom is much grief: and he that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow."


in this eternal return,
i will plant enough
fruit trees to never
be hungry. and i'll
give infinite apples to
all the proto-humans i
inevitably emerge from.
maybe my handwriting
will get better, and i'll
write down all the names
of all the stars and sell
the volume to everyone
then
i'll speed-read the book of
Life, and in an instant
           rewrite
it, and then burn its pages
like a cosmic prairie
fire. i'll have endless
lovers
and for each one construct
a windmill, to remind
myself of strife and mercy
inherit in love and
weather. i will construct
a mirror exactly paralell to
another mirror, and the speed
of light will fill the
vanity, forever.
i will become a mountain
and the path
and a weary traveler,
the sea, the
sextant,
and a weary mariner.
i'll take pottery 101
from community college
a million times, and make
perfect-sphere urns
and die a million times
to fill them.
i will be hungry
and eat everything,
and be everything,

i'll carve perfect pyramids
to a point
with endless bases, far
in the dark.
from the top

i will rewrite
good and evil,
and thus author
sorrow, and escape
mea culpa like a weather
balloon, wrought with
unbearable lightness.
i will
         rewrite
this page a million times
and burn it like
an existential prairie fire
then never rise
again, forever,
meeting endless
sorrow
in finding death
in rebirth.