Though it may be enjoyable, sneering is hardly a superior use of intelligence.
Cultural snobbery, for example, aimed at cliched reactions to art from those stuck in their visual taxonomies.
(Which I associate with reviews leaving the question:”Did you like it?” unresolved.)
Vagueness forms a refuge, where precision seems threatening.
Situations requiring the supression of hostility.
When, if we cannot make people good, we try to make them behave well.
(As politics or law tend to result in an imposition of will, by some upon others.)
Whatever arises acts to constrain perception.
Anything realised involves options closed.
Perhaps constituting a burden of finitude.
Thus we could imagine that inertia preserves more possibility than action.
Yet, in actuality, a small task done outranks our big fantasy.
Feeling oppressed by a sense of insignificance.
While my certainties take negative form.
(Age, loss, illness, rejection, death.)
Hope no longer shields me from the truth that I am unfit to marry.
I tell myself sex would only leave me unfulfilled.
I mingle pity with desire
allow beauty its sadness
even admit love may reveal
what it was supposed to overcome:
a victorious loneliness…
But women remain icons
for an impenetrability
And I end up making jokes
is so serious.