I am not surprised at
ladder-rung reproduction.
Nor am I disappointed, it gives me
something to do.
Maybe not the right thing to do
but a thing.

Oh, Draconis!
I’m not even sure I want this goal!
Detroit calls to me of its grime and grit
and potential
Lansing claws into me with bone talons
pleading, “don’t leave me!”
And I wail
angsty and goth-like
because I can’t make up my mind.

Oh, Tiamat!
Is this weakness the core of entropy?
“Not with a bang, but with a whimper,”
Have I been shown the ability to crumble
within myself
Time only brings more pain
it seems
more knuckling under
If I succumb utterly to you
am I learning
or
am I giving up?