not enough

it’s not enough to be fulfilled
when you walk into work
and walk out to home
and walk into the grocery store
and simply eat the food that nourishes
the entire journey from start to
finish.

at least,
not for me.

it’s not enough to wake up
and find solitude in the razor blade
or a friend in a foamy lather of shampoo
or a miniscule bit of risk to dance
around nude from bedroom to bathroom.

at least,
not for me.

it’s not enough to think grand thoughts
that are so deep they postulate their own children
and their own hypotheses and theories and
ambitious agendas and illustrious awakenings
and decide you know the world’s inner workings.

at least,
not for me.

it’s not enough to mine the minds of wisdom
and pretend the ore is somehow crushable into
pebbles sized so appropriately they could be
sprinkled onto ice cream and fed to the masses
in a delectable form, undistinguishable and delicious.

at least,
not for me.

it’s not enough to wonder about the problems
and pretend we have solutions or at least know those with them
or to think that the premise of this depression
is merely the actions of those we pretend to hate
but secretly admire for their unwavering dedication to victory.

at least,
not for me.

it’s not enough to settle for anything, whether it be
that damn country music so many find soothing
or that shopping trip filled with electronics purchases
that really fail to inspire intellectual gain
or drive-through meals that nourish just beyond the reach of death.

at least,
not for me.