Men 'til Illness

Free Verse ReVolution

In our psyches there’ll
always be us,
seventeen year old at heart,
adjusting to imposed status
quos of
falling apart.

Open blouse in the backseat reeks
of the body heat I’ve lost
since
but your
floral scent lingers.

Darling, these
were the years I was
sent through
the ringer.

If I could point fingers at a single root cause,
the pause between
its pieces would result
in a paradox.

If I could sum up the loss, I’d keep
it my glove box like
a gun
or a love note,
because there will always
be days I don’t know
which of the two
it’s supposed
to be.

On schedule
to be a man until
I was over ruled;

my ambition parked
in a Chevy outside
the local
high school,

emergency brake enabled in
a world recovery
is a fable.

We were never the cool kids, yeah,
but I became colder than…

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