The Usual Coast

An unusual cost, this judgment demands:
Sublimation and transformation.
It doesn't bring comfort, and
It doesn't seem to bring results.

My concerns - first:
I can't be sure these feelings, not sublime, can dissolve into the ether.
(You know, ether doesn't exist, and neither does the sublime.)
Second:
Is transformation continuous, or death and rebirth?
(Smiles now can't be future frowns; the same with men - and me.)

It's tempting indeed, at times like these,
to secure transportation
to a new destination
and return to my usual coast.