A thought like broken fragments Kaleidoscopic yet still monotonous Dancing in solitude, altering alchemy Yet still jumbled like the morning crossword Is there clarity hidden amongst mayhem? Or is this chaos the unveiled mystery
the bartender poured a double of something "drink this," she said "just don't smell it, and definitely don't sip it" her light eyes looked at me and for a moment reminded me of what I wanted to forget I downed the shots but they never made me feel better I briefly contemplated my options a one-way ticket to Manchester or drinking on-sale antifreeze my silver jacket buttons holding cold in their heart I took a drag from a cigarette dangled it between my fingers "I don't even smoke", I laughed my words hung in the air like a foreign object out of reach and it smelled like you watching ashes and smoke getting lost in the crisp air
there’s nothing good that’s come from these past few years. no political changes for the poor. no more role models. no more poetry. I wonder what historians will think of us. will they lump us together in groups of ten, like the ’80s and ’90s? or will they get lazy retelling us? will they place us together in hundreds, or thousands, picking out only the salvageable from this worthless era? I won’t be included in these stories. neither will you.