Next Generation


was that photo
that was posted,
was it meant for me? an unconventional pose?
was that your motor vehicle
slightly ahead of mine? a crisscross of happenstance
which dictates direction. and i will be the recluse, a distance
of reluctance- images of new work presently
reveal the content of our periphery

there is no next generation,
standing amid hot tar and concrete-
supplicating their will, confiscating the perilous
borders of creation.
i can remember a time,
without introspection,
waiting until children
were asleep to access the information
that would allow a peek into the new world.

a succession of unforseen events
coincides within this vortex, a correlation to
our own collective. on both sides, now.

they are creating a coalition
a singing chorus of scintillation
“this is exactly how it was!” I would shout
over the voluminous sound.
and the cacophony of totality can
reclaim the night, if only for that one, brief, moment.
it was simply a repetition of the cycle. the firehouse that is now
a residence. the vacant lot that once housed
ideas without recalcitrant demands.
this user is private.
and the succession of continuity is delineated
along tribal lines, which never existed as a barrier
in the good old days.

no one knows what became of the money raised
from the benefit
no one thought
about the import of the imprint.
we have come to the endgame,
a recess beyond impact.
i threw the key to the armory
over the riverbank.

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