this is not how it’s done.

this is not business as usual.


retirement is an illusion;

life is this, here, now.


the pain of the present can be counted

on to be capitalized: traded and


tucked into the pockets of those living

in penthouses above, outside of, time.


we say we want our freedom,

but we can’t handle it; we give


it away again and again to

the highest bidder, and we don’t


even get to see the profit margin:

it slinks off into the night like wet ink.