waiting to be pushed to assisted living so the
workers can toss them in the trash along with
our young people's clothes that the salvation
army refused to accept... we are preoccupied
with precautions to extend our life and strip
ourselves of the fabrics that used to be our
personalities... we dip our wicks into the wax
of illusions and fantasies that creatively sat
inside our imaginations like the six shooter
in a cowboy holster... wearing the bandanas
around our faces when we pretended to rob
banks and they pretended to put us in jail...
a generation lost in its own foolish past as if
its recreation would somehow justigy our
pitiful existence... we have syncopated
dreams matching the music we loved and
the lyrics that said so much about the way we
felt when we could not express it ourselves...
we pay merchants of death our inheritance
to postpone the inevitability of it all, just
so we can remember one more day and
pretend that everything will be ok for
everyone when we accept passing away.
9 November 2022
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