So Much for That – J.M. Ó Faoláin

November 9, 2025

To feel without felt.
Imagine without, within.
Hollow rapping dulls my flesh.

Imagine a forest—
trees all felled.
Claw across the pine-needle floor
and whisper it to a stone.

Out of your mind and back again,
in business casual. Not that again.

A sharp corner dressed by dim light
yes, we might find him there.
No, the chair is empty.
His bed is soiled, and seven times over
you’ve heard him chant your call.

If after is at all,
why leave his gloves in the garden bed
for others to try and clip his thorns?

Still, that corner breathes,
laughing at us nauseously.
Seated, I might sketch the whole scene.
Standing, I break my crown.

It will never end.
No end.
Never ending.