The Point

Time to be a human again;
just get up and do it.
We'd been treating
the days
like a stack of cards
in a magic trick, just pluck
one out and hope
something is revealed.
We didn't see much.  Some oohs
and ahhs, but nothing stuck.
The odds were against us, and
the odds do always come out
in the end.

Now, it changes.  I'll start
with your face, worship it,
each pore and follicle,
twitch and grimace.
Then, all the other
faces.  Then, myself.
I'll never sleep.
I'll allow boredom,
finally.  I'm pretty sure
it will destroy me
in the end.

But, after all, isn't that the point?