I just want the impossible,
because (deep down)
I need an excuse to be aimless.
There is no compelling reason to focus scope
if the heart’s target is invisible.


I just choose the complicated,
because (sub consciously)
I think it makes for better poems.
There is no compelling reason to write stanzas
if the subject’s matter is prosaic.

I just pursue the perfect,
because (gut level)
I know it immunizes me from disappointment.
There is no compelling reason to meet standards
if the system’s tuning is flawless.