You believe in pressing shuffle
to let the good times roll and stepping into traffic though you can’t fully see round cars. Are they parked or moving so fast your heavy-lidded eyes can’t process the exchange?
Perhaps you, like the rest of your generation are petrified by FOMO Or asthma, anxiety, or bipolar, whichever term you use.
Or rather we have exhausted the art of preparation,
just follow through, the baby boomers say, Are we simply too lazy to partake in any such a tradition as practical as planning?
No, you cross streets when lights turn yellow
the plot thickening in your head rears with each elongating stride and these rusting words scurry along a phone screen
quick with dashing fingers, distracted thoughts,
try to capture the wilting sun your ears enlarge, the blood in your veins has a new luster,
matching the beat, which trusty fate- dearest shuffle
has selected to drive your hair back and chin up towards a darkening sky that coddles you like the feathers threatening to escape from your mother’s hand-me-down Patagonia coat. It is here on crosswalks where you find yourself: the cover of a rock album, that does not belong to us or our generation nor do we belong to it, but it growls with the same urgency that we do
parallel and ; fueled by change. Breathe in & exhale to share it with the world.
Comments