In itself
it was enough
to keep me going
for now
in this life
that never seems
like it's enough
in itself:
gentle pat
on my literary back,
cup of coffee
jolts awake lethargic mind,
smile from a man
that contained no lust,
book in the mail
to start and finish tonight,
photo of mischevious feline
cute ears as angry eyebrows,
graceful energy
of an old woman
whirling courageously toward death.
In itself
it was enough
to keep me going
on, again
in this life
that isn't enough
in itself:
remember it's an impermanent circus.
know that everyone is wrong
because we can never know who's right.
feel fearless and cynical about
the idea of death.
and, mostly, always stay aware
that although this life
doesn't seem enough
in itself,
it may be the only chance
to exist, ever.
and the only other option
could be
oblivion.
