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.
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