There came a time

I stopped searching

for the perfect thing.

Rather than be trapped

by an idea

in my head,

find an analog in the present.


It might be a thousand years

since I first thought of it,

but here we are,


after all this time

and I’m still

pining away.


When it comes,

it steals upon me quickly.

A rush of wind,

and smelling

like a nosebleed.

Hard rationale

meets soft compromise

and I am laid bare,

suddenly aware

that all of this

is just a surrogate,

of a surrogate,

of a surrogate

for you.


Point of prey,

to be elusive.

Hide in shadows

and believe,

if I am perfectly

still and silent,

I will not be eaten.


So afraid,

and so blind.

Willing to deny the obvious.

I was found

and devoured

long ago,

and now

I’m in the beast.

Turns out

I should have been struggling

this whole time.


Ideas have a way

of winning out.

We succumb

to our bias.

Normalcy and expectation

prevail over our senses.


Then, I look around

and realize

I can smell my own blood again.

I am here,

coveting another


of a surrogate,

of a surrogate

for you.



HG – 2021

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