Untitled (Everything is Fleeting)

Every winter we become
Vulnerable and wonder why
Ellipses take such pride in
Repeating the same cycle
Year in and year out.
Theology has told us
Hell propels the celestial bodies,
Inciting movement through fear and
Not love. If love were the cause,
Greek poets would still be alive.

Is there a better explanation?
So what if we’re going to die.

Flow like a river and let us
Lay in a raft toward
Ennui. After all it’s inevitable:
Evidenced by the past,
The fire sermon spelling out years
In indistinguishable script, sufficing a
Nod to tell us we are all
Going the same way.