Living on Credit



I never told you the secret behind why I do it all. Forlorn the cosmic urge in dusty shoes. I’ll tell you, but you must honour it. Nothing is for free, it all costs a piece of you. What are you paying? You cannot live on credit, the debt is accrued on your promise to rise above it.

Dad liked to watch Magnum PI. When I think of Tom Selleck I think of his every-man smile. He never cared for the show. He just liked to watch it. If you are old enough that’ll make sense. He wasn’t thinking about an episode rating.

How long before you catch up? I’m waiting, but most of all you are. Don’t profess when you are a mess. The material world is Madonna’s, not yours. Look at the price she paid. If they didn’t give her proper credit, she just walked away.

Overdrawn again, asking for more. The Egyptians knew they had to offer to the divine. Their rituals honour the patient, but the sick are Lycanthropes at the mercy of time. The one transformation nobody can afford.

The entitled spasmodic, a world non-ergodic. The non-linear break-dance for a creative threat; procedural waltz for the desultory left. Hands circumnavigate the edges, quitters in movies like to hang from ledges.

What next for you? Take stock of your heartbeat, the aorta is a motive to repeat. We all have a sliver of existence from which to plant our trees. We will shake off the remarks if it means our granddaughters sit in their shade. There’s no debt to be paid when the cost is a seed.

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