How to Live


Montaigne had the idea
wine, a cupola, on the estate
the question of what one is 
born into gnaws at the bones
but earn it, yes? Yes, yes, 
turn your lip edges into a floatable
boat by force, tie them in place
with your bootstraps
and take another sip 
of your sweet grapes.


Certainty's defeat might be your aim;
semi-semi-partiality unlocks 
the nonexistence of a trap
floating between spaces 
indistinguishable, as change cannot
be seen for its speed
and indifference:
you, I, them, we,
a confusion of uncharacteristic
archetypes, foxes, hedgehogs,
each of whom
erased a few more entries
from the dictionary's fictions.


Moving among rather than through
onward with the fact of impermanence
acceptance without nihilism
a partiality that isn't partway
some and a little bit more
less and a fair amount above
a prepositional life
something about joy, cheerfulness
you painter of impressions
scratched against a cloud layer
that doesn't speak ill
only murmurs
thunder violet
rain turns green.

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