at or around 40

and then
a sudden estimation
of the rapture
we fail to see

conversing in two voices
one subtle
and the other flagrant
the nonsense of eternity and mortality
clash so comfortably
to combine into something
almost compassionate

at best we hope that these black hearts
will soar above the rest
unfortunate  decimation
or sudden jest
as we behold the infinite quest

we’ve been here before
weeks upon weeks
of empty motions
litter the floor

there’s just too much of
as we are
constantly seeking
more than average

there is no art
to self destruction
with split second decisions
and last minute declarations
it’s simply in-congruent decor
with a mind that just can’t focus

calculations in a chorus of cached memories
and surrounded by sock puppets
of the highest order
what if all this is garbage
just a passing gesture to mark the moment
a different kind of blues

absent mortals
at home and alone
few are unbroken
and connected with
a singular tone

there’s this myth
of specialty
that arises when we
live another life in secret
dreaming we’re somehow different
but the truth is
we bend and scrape
like everyone else
as holy rollers
and misfit trollers
collect the most important pieces
of an indefinite game


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