We sang: retro post-modern.
With tattoos of Lynard Skynard
And boats sailing
At high mast.

Mediocrity accepted as norm.

We came rarely,
For legal reasons.

Religion stained our blood,
And our *****.
With pine smoke fragrance.

Laughter,
Few and like
Stucco condos-

Birds whispered secrets to life
As we murdered each other with silence.

Sun rise:
Gleamed positivity with
Bling chains of Christ.

We danced while naked and alone,
Another legality-

And culture was processed in the blender of commerce-
Black and white word puzzles plagued our lethargic minds.
From triviality—
Transience.