Sunday, March 20, 2016

rob the rich and discomfit the devil

You say, 'oh,  
            Come kiss me in the spring time when all the trees are blue, 
when the flowers in the meadow, lovely,  start over again, 
            like me, like me, like me, like you'— 
'There’s just too much time slipping since I’ve been out wandering, and, 
oh, there’s just too much time passing since I’ve been gone'—and 
            I think that maybe if we all stayed young without noticing that would solve it, but 
I know somehow our minds finding a way back would—
To the big round ikea Raymor container, glowing life urban outfitter’s bulb, where there’s just too much wasted time to empty out, that—
            Eventually—with no recourse—
It’s scattered ashes everywhere where we’re going.

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