among the fireworks...
i could swear i heard
a wolf howl;
witch such sensual experiences,
how, sudden,
the carnal cravings /
desires... fizzle out...
fade... entombed....
by a carcass of skeletal
grounding...
   when such oddities
pressure the mind into
allowing the non-sensible
empirical data to be investigated...
such frailty...
the breath that brings
a tomb, alive...
          ah wooooooooo!
i could swear that all
but all, that was missing
was the growling extent
of a wolf's presence...
how: wolves cannot bark...
like their domesticated
counterparts...
               but i could swear
i heard a wolf howling
among the broken notes
of the interludes between
set-off fireworks...
          death, the welcoming womb...
a library of literary
artifacts...
                 may my original sin,
be the sin,
    that i am...
             bequeathed a sabotage
of life, enduring death...
                 let the originality
of my "sin"... be:
foremost plagiarism,
but secondly,
the "unexpectedness"
of the inevitable circumstance...
my, mortal, realm,
of unpredictability
        and the sacrosanct godly:
the immovable theater...
the predictability of the gods...
suited to the nuisance of
the mortality of the thespians...
the role, the life, the death,
the life, the death, the role,
and what other variant
befits the rubric...
          
point being... am i to be thankful,
should the a priori question
arrive to suggest it would
have been better: that nothing exist?
can i negate that with doubt?
for the said promises,
given the lived experience...
       the dialectic theology is
unanswered...

                 since my choice of words:
leave me without an
acted-upon impetus...
to solidify claims,
and revel in lasting impressions
of an argument's worth.