“La tranquilidad está infravalorada.” —Tomás López, in conversation

Like lemmings in mass migration
Taking a kamikaze leap from the cliff,
We hold the untenable faith
That insane adventure may lead to satisfaction,
Possess the desperate hope
That disappointment is actually foreshadowing.
These goldfish trains of thought
Wound in arsonous imagination
Lack the authenticity to be borne out,
And instinct is all that saves us from cannibalism.
If popular imagination should prove false
And the story of our suicides
Thus become apocryphal,
We’ll be swimming downriver
To find a home for the winter,
Where the weak spots in our armor will be sheltered
From the hailstorm that is loneliness.