ALT Michael Homolka ETERNAL RECURRENCE Life expects too little of us, then it expects too much. Rain throttles the balcony in a country you barely remember. Curtains settle against approaching clouds. “Casablanca” on repeat, the family wanders in and out of darkness with slices of pie. Soon everyone dies or resolves into rifts. Always gossip, always money. It's possible to reason your way through grief. People say it's not, but it is. Distant navy ships hang on the horizon on journeys neither forward nor back. Grocery store lighting comes close to solace. I think how rude I've become to everyone, how unspiritual this is. If you were life, would you want people picking you apart? Restless sky, impermeable ocean. Gentle walks along the rock weed. An inlet.
