A N T H E M

xvii. it

it penetrates the air i breathe,

the art i make. it follows me

down rows of bookstore shelves

chases me through public spaces

invades my thoughts and corrupts

my ambitions, even when i tell it

and myself

that it is not welcome here.

it is flashing streetlights in my eyes,

perpetually distant no matter how far

i drive toward it

so bright i can barely see

anything in the dim periphery.

it begs for inclusion

a nagging buzzing by my ears

some invisible insect

injecting poison in my blood

and all that i ask of it is to please

i beg, leave me alone.

would you,

love?