You too, rich enabler, have slid into the gray of memory <br />with no captions and no forwarding address <br />convincing us that most lives lived before the fall of such <br />are mere decorations of themselves and therefore waste; <br />that only in life lived 'round the corner, in vacuity, <br />is truth, (always what we define it) makeable, so valid, <br />anyway, and truly affordable. <br />Still and all, of legacies chary, we've got to pay the bills. <br />We are well-worn trails, drinking small, Dutch beers from <br />styrofoam cups one could have predicted. Now what is <br />Truth, ducky? And whose shall we moon-like, reflect- <br />decide after hours of thinking isn't? Gone enabler, I am <br />yours: was, wasn't, year by year, am and am not, taking and <br />forfeiting crystalline youth, so hail you, dear, and farewell.<br /><br />Morgan Michaels<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/fa/
