All the Same

Living on not living, feasting,
Really, on lack of appetite,
Days when the right combination

Of drugs and leisure is pleasing
As back roads lacking traffic lights,
Leading to the generation

Of just the perfect admixture
Of risk reduction (no others)
And harm potential (all those curves)

You rest in your chair, a picture
Sketched in shadows so stark summer’s
Inferred, chiaroscuro birds,

One of boredom’s infinite forms
That remain, somehow, all the same.