years rolled into decades as
the game grew vague. we lost count of the
times the machine was forced into a tilt,
be it purposeful or unintentional. we stepped outside where
barley was swaying unimaginatively in
the field across the gravel road
that brought us
here. the incessant games that had
meant the world to each of us. to a person, we each dropped to our
knees and keened, mourning
the goals we’d never reach because of games, of endless pretense.
callous accrual
