Face it— we’re out of spunk,
Chutzpah, hope and slam-dazzle, whatever
Je ne sais quoi once smoldered
squandered
It’s drinks after work, obsessions
Suppressed till death do us
Indifferent, till then lying
Under covers, on and to each other
Reflecting nostalgia, hungry for hunger
and being younger.
Dying frightened us then
It happened
hate to admit it, but .. true
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