Not quite but always. From the first to the very last. Dragged into a world. Wrestling with being. A master of crafting experience to live in prospect. There is no replacement for presence but I try to stand still. Size up the challenges. Forwards forever.

I am supine and it feels ironic to relax. I’m not alone for once but there is something missing. A truant purpose. There it is again. Like Kele and Kreuzberg. The bitter taste. Every time is the first time. Under a canal bridge separating the froth from the beer.

Nowhere to run. Pawing blue light for a sign of life. The meditative cradle of conditioned white. On the fence. In two minds. I don’t have the time. An alarm breaks out and I’m back again. Sitting pretty. Of mice and men.

I can’t get my teeth in. There’s a hole in my life. It might reflect on the past or hold me ransom tonight. Barcelona rooftops. La Pedrera in vain. Even after all this time. Bass out on the streets. Not all of us rest. Some peer out the blinds for it all to digest.

Neat vodka in a mug. Raving mad until we are drunk. We’ll be together forever. Or until the music stops. No special fonts but we made a name for ourselves. There we all were looking for the beginning of the end. Jet fuel melted our dreams.

It was simple once. You think you are fine. You’re just surviving and it seems like a good time. We posted on walls. Knocked on doors. Ran from the cops and sledded down hills. Scraps turned to statuses. Beckoned like a dinner bell.

The chickens came home to roost. Delicious with rice. Some of us got stronger and began a fight for our lives. Others waited for the moment to kick in. They forgot to read the memo. Not every generation is permitted to hide.

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