What would come of flowing

Worry as if in storm,

Constantly bemoaning

Nipples as if new born.

Refusing to be aged

And live through life’s contempt.

A passing must be staged.

A feigning we accept.

But what use is allowed

From mandible deceit,

To deny our duties,

And anything concrete.

May it be we’re lazy,

Or perplexed from our fears—

We seek our seek hazy—

Decline to act sincere.

May weep another dream,

Separated by bays,

Of sleep shores not redeemed,

To be alone always.

Might this be what we

Prefer?