the most ageless
of knowledge
which stubbornly refuses
to be handed down.
Hence, generations
have mostly failed
to notice
how those of us who acquiesce
to that stubborn injunction
to make time
are always
the most hungry for it,
always the first to kill it,
always the most desperate
to change on a dime.
Whereas
those of us who are out here
zealously copy-
and-pasting the past
after years, become satisfied
to dream less,
to wake up in the same place
a different kind
of depressed,
to only entertain
(but never befriend)
our increasingly
unambiguous conception
of lonely.
