for fresh that always feverishly sends us into hours
of regretting the decision(s) we made
will be the demise of everything...
soundtracked by a string quartet that makes it
sound like I am delivering an in-memoriam
for the future itself.
orchestrated acts of spontaneous combustion,
newness and air,
mondial monologues on fucking fire.
my rebellion is so practical these days
that it registers as piety,
but it is a knife away from slicing wise.
enjoy the regrets
because even they give way
to sometimes spectacular sunsets.
...an overly earnest coup d'etat of the self
in which change is thrust upon us
by the soul of the spinning earth
and we must decide to ride or die.