andy_warhol_little_electric_chair_d5371705h

Physically forgotten,

are the footfalls deluded by haste.

Gray-outs,

with the sunshine,

pass due date.

Illegal rummage sales among watercolors from an artist on the take.

Loosing chase with overcast informer.

Longing for the finish-line.

Unsanctioned rhyme…

About doing the poor woman’s time.

In the back of my mind…I have been tone down before.

Shade shackled at my crow’s-feet.

A burden of defeat?

Anxiety cupped in a blurred retreat.

Why not?

Acid washed and hung-out to dry.

The running has to stop.

Still…

On glory days,

a pledge of allegiance to the boozy haze.

Visions of illusions,

I wished were never severed.

Misadventures cut loose,

unharnessed.

un-tethered.

Lost direction has made its comeback.

And, it is animation that I lack.

From what the elders have told…

‘there is no cure for sobriety growing old.’

Just parchment pieces of parched reprieve…hand rolled.

 

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