Kitschy Ice Cream Treats vs. Unwanted Backpacks; the good outweighs the bad.

I hate the impossible satchel called a conscience-

the unmistakable tin of the things we fabricate to avoid its burden

I love the unnatural ease of living at 4a.m, the sound of the highway trucks-

how they always evoke for some reason the pure stream of nostalgia that I curse/cherish

I hate the pale reluctance of the morning after-

sweet cloudy oblivion wrecked by the cruel alarm, and the unholy pitch of its death beep

I love you and the contradictory-

how the strength of your fingers makes manifest the softness of your brown eyes

I hate simultaneously the fears of certainty/the unknown-

the choice between the resignation of doom or the paranoia of confusion

I love the hot chemical smell of tar in the summer-

how it reminds me of walking that block, albany, childhood, push up pops, and the wild beauty of life