Go outside if you can
to a place not mapped, where ice might be gone and pink petals swirl in the street.
Take off all the dissonance and hang your identity where you are least likely to
remember (next to the scratchy guilt and plastic anger)
and just walk.
Look at the signs pointing to here and there and both.
Look at the dreams of this and that.
Allow the rain and sun to face you in the proper direction for perfect nonsense,
because no, there is no point. It is senseless, all this beauty
and your capacity
and the love you feel
(even for your denial).
Let the lust for bliss brush across the back of your neck
and cause you no end of troublesome delight.