Are they getting taller, with shaggy hair
and thriftstore persuasions, with common
blood and passing attention to the fractured
events that plow through generations
that ties their fatuous interests
of manufactured dreams and media
megathors all geared to the faction
of youth -- so bright and glinting
in all directions, the performance
of innocence wrapped in this solitude
of loneliness? Where are you going?
Your lanky arms and dark eyes!
Your final bow and sweet smell,
your laughter and endearing stupidity:
dragging the rest of us into oblivion.
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