One must imagine Sisyphus shredded

After Caspar David Friedrich’s Wanderer above the Sea of Fog, c. 1818

On my commute up the mountain,
I roll the boulder of my every weird failure
even as I assure my friends 
that love is not a reward owed only to the flawless,
that the trail of the self need not be linear
and paved with timekeeping apps

The view from up top may be beautiful,
I say to my burdens on speakerphone,
but beauty is not exclusive to summits 
or those who reach them

Stop, wanderer 
Scrape your boots along the ground 

Feel that?
Nothing real can exist without friction 

Let go of your rock
See if it floats
And if it does, 
You have my permission to let it go and enjoy the view

Featured image held in the public domain via Wikimedia.


In a dream, you saw a way to survive, and you were filled with joy.


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