The Curators

Perhaps because we insist 

on curating our lives

so thoroughly, the gods 

take

mischievous glee

in having their way with us nightly.

Ever unprepared for inert travels

and

chockfull of unchosen companions,

if not accomplices, 

referendums of former follies

are foisted on us

via a tideless flotsam.

Insisting on realities equal to our 

own 

labored, yet effortless 

manipulation of days, 

twin equilibriums

cannot, will not

be kept at bay.

No doubt our desiring

a good death

is cause to agree 

to such adventures

in which we are thrust

into elliptical episodes

we’ve no business

being apart from.

Since finding a way

to speak for all of us

through nights of reckless poetry,

perhaps these poems are pulpits

for redressing 

the many gods

we ignored

by failing to hoard.

Peter Valentyne

November 2018