mmmmdccclxviii

A Life Lived Lily-Livered

I come through time,
shot from the Summer
of Love, an X, which
marks a spot—no—

more of a duration,
representative of a
walked-over gener
ation.  I guess I’m

looking for a warn
ing.  From myself,

who’s come to tell
me not to get so

caught up in all of
the nonsense?  Each
duration ends.  The
end is not the begin

ning is how I might
start.  Self proclaims:
Duh!  But what does
that mean?  And what

can be done about it?
Who knows?  Present
self is just attempting
to remove the torture

of being thrown back
wards, having lived a
life so cumulatively
progressive.  Watching

what has accrued de
plete ever more swiftly.
As the world crumbles
around him. Sure, my

kith cut its teeth on
brooding loners, goth
heroes.  The apocalypse,
while always nigh, yet 

was but a fantasy. Now, 

as those teeth gradually
decay, along with the
rest of who we are, Oh

Future Me, self-deprec
ating hedonist, don’t
lose your happy! Never.
And Couldn’t you just come

back every hour just to
remind me?  My mind,
always halved, grows
weary of being have

not.  Being a mind so
bent on the creative, 

on happy feel-good plea
sure... surely you

have this, Mister
Mess! .. I’m on it,
whimpers Mis
ter Blessed.