i ate pizza for breakfast today

every indolent hook-up seems like nostalgia for infancy

seems like crushing the first ant

seems like hitting the first girl

seems like stealing the first cookie

seems like leaving the first womb

and what, if anything, does that create?

a corruption.

and a corruption is wrong, in that corruption doesn't signify anything except a mood

and i don't want to signify a mood.

seems like opening the first present.

my dislike for shakespeare's elizabethan-zeitgeist-oriented poignancy is similar to my dislike of most 'norms'

but if memory were defeated all things would feel new

and what would people learn?

what would people have to write about?

how would people express their faculty for expression?

seems like puncturing the first balloon.

if i could show another person,

a person with capacity for empathy and restraint and religious levels of human value,

would i want for that person to see how i elicit attention?

would i want the most basic stereotypical human to see how i communicate?

SEEMS LIKE CLIMBING THE FIRST TREE.

i want to demolish a gargantuan brick warehouse and call the resulting pile of rubble 'mine' and hate it and still not know what hate is and cry until temporal displacement turned the rubble into something different and beautiful and objectively perfect...

and i want to still not care what perfect means

i think i am probably wrong about everything

but it seems like the first halloween

seems like the first intimate relationship

seems like this poem is discernibly an extended metaphor for virginity loss, 'actually'

...an extension of the human impulse to procreate

and a remnant of the wake caused by the pubescent epiphany of discovering i will never know anything about anything ever, including the concept of anything

even when it seems i do