Del is short for
deeee-luxe. What
a rush, lost in space,
the hush of morning’s
air. Sure, I’ve known
times I’d call delightful.
Times aplenty. In fact,
given all that I do know,
which, sure, indisputably,
isn’t all that much, but
shut up for a moment.
I still want to bring it
up. To complain about
it. To vent. But how to
vent when one is already
in Purgatory? Enough
with this incessant
venting! I could
instead flip it and
reverse it, put a new
spin on a dead horse,
so to speak, by
approaching the sub
ject from a more
positive angle. One
that assumes (with
so much anticipation)
a future; attempts to
rid the focus of so
much of my attention
for far too long of
much of the con
sternation. Sure.
Let’s do that. Let’s
remove the need
to even complain
about such matters
by developing a goal
that will eradicate the
problem altogether,
even as the older I get
the sketchier the pro
spects for such a lofty
aspiration, that del
uxe apartment in
the sky is what?
Is nigh? I thought
for a moment you
said it was night.
Or I’m high? Am
I wrong? Or
am I right?
