remained in my thoughts
(surpassing whichever cathartic realizations
I was meant to have
on metaphorical peaks)
were soon eclipsed
by the melodic shuffling through
of Stith and Sufjan philosophies.
More can be said about
the oxymoronic act
of "empty" sex
in dirty hotel rooms
than can be said
of climbing up mountains,
climbing down.
Existing as a dichotomy:
ledgers of achievement
and failures,
which is the better measure
of self-worth?
I tried to balance books.