An olive shoulder and brown hair

Morning announcements and evening salvation

Here we are and we’re trying too hard
but the wind is at our backs
and the riots are full flung
so why not hit the ground
and make love to the dead
while we still can?

The orchards are reacting
and changing their fruit
from what I wanted
to what I am
and youth parades in all its shameful innocence,
dangling the perception that this is how it is
and how it will forever be.

And yet I praise them
and worship them,
knowing full well I missed my chance to be them
while continuing to fail to grow beyond them.

So lost lights
guide ships
to disaster
and fortunes tell of times forgotten
and girls in tight pants
and curly hair
and bad breath.

Kiss them for me.

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