After Tasting

I must keep going.
I must keep telling myself that I must keep going.
I hear songs that remind me of what seem like
impossibly perfect days-
that have already past.

I must remember it has always been this terrifying,
long, monotonous, redundant.
I have always doubted the possibility of fulfillment.

To myself I say forward.

The command is directed at the ceiling,
in boxers/socks
in the anxiety of being late to work.
I let go and fall straight through myself.
Back into sleep.

The beauty of experience lies in its aftertaste.
The power of our minds-
devices churned to synthesize
all the meaning of our lives-

Afterlife, aftertaste. Perhaps
all the beauty of life lies in its aftertaste.