One night, I was
Murdered in my sleep
And was better off for it.

When I awoke,
The transitive symposium
Malediction collapsed,

And I became perfused
By memories
Of obsessions unfulfilled.

As if my thought were a note:
Struck,
Yet not sustained.

As if my consciousness is a chord
Progression progressing,
But never resolves;

I continue to pursue
In condition
Of discretion, unfulfilled.