Success ~ Saturday, November 29, 2025

Already, so many of my friends, dead
left me behind to sort out this whole mess
really how rude of them, oh wait, I speak
ever ill in bad faith, a book I read
already, I want to read yet again
dead friends, I want to hug, I want to bless
yet, they no longer sneeze, I feel too weak

so, I go back to stay out of trouble
only we are no longer young children

many times, I look back to no avail
avenues lined with trees, Sanderson Lane
nothing to do, with no way out, but fail
yet, if I could fly away like a crane

of innocence, now lost, on the double
flying squirrel, eight stone, I run at night

my thoughts count steps so that I do not think
yet, unfiltered memories come with tears

friends fall off cliffs in Mexico, despite
recently being dead, a long, long time
indeed, consider the Big Bang, all pink
eternal dust, an endless list of fears
no psychologist ever wants to see
despite writing poems, I hate to rhyme
still, I could go back to playing the drums

dead friends remain dead, although Hollywood
eternal limelight beside all the slums
asks me to write poems as if I stood
decidedly buzzing, a bumblebee

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