Sunday, February 3, 2013

Fossils -A Poem


Dying from this
Dead from this

We are the lost generation, stranded in a sea of flaming debris
The giants, whom we call parents and grandparents, linger on

Dying from this
Dead from this

Stillborn children, we are; far from breathing
where we will, with whom we Will

Dying from this 
Dead from this

Dreadful meals, irradiated by micro waves, 
consumed with mindless fervor and unhappy grunts


Dying from this
Dead from this

No longer born like Bukowski but left behind
lifeless but in the middle, the half second between

Dying from this
and
Dead from this

the lip of the event horizon, the space inbetween
tick and tock where one can be both

Dying from this
and
Dead from this.

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