A Seven-Card Stud named Shep Huntleigh
Time
gets shorter every year
Can you feel the overwhelming fear
Of not knowing when you’ll get there
Memories
of what’s lost greying your perfect hair
Walking to a place that makes you feel
You wake up one moment and forget you’re even real
The black of tomorrow
turns into the white
yesterday
from desire we feel to the games we play
Denying the reality that makes us whole
Burning with the fact we’re getting old
Dreams
of love that color the past
Moments
of Varsouviana that aren’t meant to last
Streetcars that facilitate our doom
The light of truth that will forever loom
This poem is about:
Our world
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