Prognosis

The buzzing of far away tools run roughshod over my static mind
as the waxing of Lou Reed relates the modern state of "viciousness."
Another day in the intellectual rat race of love, shattered by
promises of work and relaxation, mugging for some far off camera
Will you be the true prospect, or clear delineation and demarkation,
of a confident future, nay past, clowning like a businessman?

The terminus of this period of stagnation ends in three bangs,
like celebrity deaths or folkloristic tropes or statistics -- the year
is clearly marked as 2014, the jigsaw puzzle of being bailed out
is consistently cut from my parent's best wishes.

The lines of a Catholic school girlhood are marked clearly on your face;
lines of my pagan youth mark mine like the aged face of a forgotten
prom queen. Tell me again of your hopes and dreams. No rest is all
that matters. We run. We fall. We continue on and on.

The fuzzy cat with a scepter knocks us down like pawns. The leaves
continually change. The shelters change too. The houses, plaid-patterned,
shrug in the light breeze. An afternoon nap becomes a sleep for eternity.
Valium? Narcolepsy? The years pass like a shock . . .


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