I am humbled
by my path to nowhere

It’s not a hero’s journey
afterall,
as was once thought

In fact it’s rather un-
spectacular
milling through the
myriad
daily concerns

I didn’t choose it

It took mounds of
hush/hush/hush
in my mind

so that I could at
least pretend to care

If I had one of Phillip
Pullman’s dæmons
it would whisper to me:
you’ve always
been preoccupied

Now I do know
I can’t be
above scotch tape
or fax machines
or the usefulness of
paperclips

I see the clumsy
stacks of paper
wheeled in by the
Staples man

and ship out on arms
of many, day and day
and day

What kind of tree
are we sacrificing
today?

And so my path
is a path to nowhere
where I seek the
things that once made
me scoff:

pleasure
warmth
happiness
love

And it’s not a hero’s
journey, as was
once thought.