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The Cost of Things



Once you start wondering about the cost of things,
how can you quit?

Existence is essential
but circumstance falls from casual causation.

What is more unappealing than the incomprehensible?
What is more empowering than the delusion of certainty?

All immorality is profligate,
all ethics are bold.

Excessful people,
people to whom never occurs the need to nurture—or mimic—an interior life,
who anoint their incapacities and disinclinations as divine interventions,
parsing nonsense from significance, using the redundant goad, the superfluous charm,
producing schisms between asthmatic schismatics practicing fake mathematics,

can't wait to negate my abstention,
to conquer and control (or at least inconvenience) my perception of context,
summoning not summer but a parody of spring, a representation
that proselytizes our values and desires (aren't they the same?)
and blames the replenishing choir for our diminishing capacity for song.

The problem with being interrogated
is that they tend to ask the wrong questions.

How we, craving the centrality—but not the responsibility—
of the protagonist, love our proxies!

What, in myself, did I murder
to avoid so much error?

Once you start wondering about wondering about the cost of things,
how can you quit?

All poems are written and copyrighted by Michael C. Rush.
None may be republished or repurposed without permission.