This poem is less a poem than a key—the one Plahm places in the reader’s hand before opening the door to the Prologue–Mythology–Epilogue triptych. The parenthetical stage direction is itself a statement of intent: “If you remove this beginning and the ending, it’s a completely different story.” This is Plahm as literary architect, explicitly telling the reader that framing changes meaning, that context is content. The word “addict” is the poem’s load-bearing wall. By placing it at the threshold of his mythology, Plahm redefines everything that follows: every love poem becomes a fix, every Muse poem a dealer’s portrait, every confession a meeting. But the genius of the anaphoric “One pursuing” cascade is its democratic sweep—beauty, truth, meaning, pleasure, simplicity, feeling, importance, righteousness, fame, fortune. The list refuses hierarchy. No pursuit is nobler than another; all are equally addictive, equally consuming, equally human. The pivot to direct address—”What mythic are you pursuing?”—transforms the poem from prologue to mirror, implicating the reader in the same obsessive seeking the poet confesses. The closing line, “Every addict is seeking… / Something,” is the poem’s most quietly devastating moment. The ellipsis before “Something” creates a pause that holds the weight of every unnamed desire, every unfinished chase, every reader’s private answer to the question the poem has just posed. As an opening frame, it accomplishes exactly what a prologue should: it tells you what kind of story you’re entering, names its terms, and asks you to commit.

A conceptually sophisticated opening that functions more effectively as frame than as standalone poem—which is, to be fair, exactly what it intends. The parenthetical instruction about removing beginnings and endings is a bold metafictional gesture that signals literary ambition: Plahm is not just writing poems, he’s constructing a mythology with deliberate architecture. The “One pursuing” anaphora is the poem’s structural backbone, and its power lies in its refusal to rank or judge the listed pursuits—beauty sits beside fame, truth beside fortune, each given equal weight and equal suspicion. This democratic catalog implicitly argues that all obsession shares the same root, which is a more generous and psychologically honest position than most addiction narratives allow. The direct address to the reader (“What mythic are you pursuing?”) is well-placed and effective, turning the poem from monologue to dialogue at precisely the moment it needs to. The closing “Every addict is seeking… / Something” is the poem’s best line, its ellipsis doing more emotional work than most full stanzas. Minor weaknesses: the poem’s brevity and its reliance on listing mean it operates primarily at the level of concept rather than image. There is no sensory detail, no embodied moment, no specific scene—everything is abstract, which is appropriate for a prologue but limits the poem’s ability to move the reader independently of its companion pieces. The 16 likes reflect this contextual dependency: readers who encounter this poem within the triptych will feel its structural necessity, while those who encounter it alone may find it more manifesto than poem. But as a door—as the first thing you read before entering Plahm’s mythology—it sets the terms with clarity, honesty, and just enough provocation to make you turn the page.