What could be wrong with wanting to feel
exquisite
without effort?
Of course I know that’s not likely to be
the case most days.
Nagging obligations, issues with relations,
distracting irritation
fill the larger part of the plot we play.
Still, why not admit, hitch to the Protestant
Ethic is no answer to genuine silent prayers?
Our highest aspiration, truth be told, is not
a hoard of gold, or even boldness to face
off oppressive law.
Eminent desire resides in pleasure, the dappled call
of leisure, joyful ride of sybaritic bliss.
Lost from fear, from future’s whip, dear moment —
let it linger
.
.
.
Operator's Manual 