Young
Like still enjoying parades
Still being blown back by fireworks
Yeah pick it all up later
All kinds of punches

Old
Like not listing favorite music anymore
Like not filling out quizzes in anticipation of someone filling it out too
Sharing less of myself
Less inclined to speak
More inclined to listen
Pissed off at becoming wise
The wise crumble under their own hubris
Not sure what to do
With all this age
It is in fist
Less inclined to punch

How easily
rinteramingliesn
rain

Up from the Gulf Coast
Where bare bottoms first touch the sand
Fish cells that land in farm fields

Where you took your first step hobbling
Playing with the oil
Until your mother took you away

Not drinking the water
Looking at the drains
Trash with no where else to go

You can see it moseying across from the West
Depositing into aquifers
We are so ungrateful until

It is

It is

It is

Where ideas go to die
Dirt cr-
um
-bles

It was like the town was genetically predisposed
To making bad decisions
Unknowingly dedicated to the town's destruction
Land that no one wants to occupy
But by those who can't leave

Where is the tour guide
Where is the bus
Brochures and rusted white panels
Plug this convention center in
Let's dine in fine wine
Stroll the parks
Exhibit the museums
Exercise the comfort

We will dredge Atlantis
Pick off the barnacles
End racial divisions
Rid the world of sweet, lethal powders
Childhoods in the trade
Clean the history written on train carts

Bad decisions
Ones related to immediate survival
Where comets have struck