Past Imperfect
we won't play your game. ou wrote the book,
made the rules.
we are excerpts from the same book,
dog-eared but not worn out.
all books reach an ending.
so, then, will our movement.
gather all your hang-ups & feed them to the sharks.
we'll inhabit the space between the two extremes:
so alive in body & so devoid of heart.
we knew there would be no future;
that was our greatest freedom.