We know, you and I

Cuz we know about time
You and I, my lonesome only friend
The way dust collects like gray velveteen
on the tops of bathroom counters and behind the open doors
How we collect entropy like drooping dead roses
And obsolete promises
Pounding away on a tandy word processor
That makes a better doorstop than a tool

We know we’re not equal to the task
The timeline is behind us and picking up speed

We’re twenty minutes late to our own funerals
Fresh out of believable excuses

So stop talking, my friend
Smoke and smile and drink your drink

The gentle art of obsolescence is all we  have left
Keep perfectly still like hipsters in amber
Stop breathing full circles

We may yet be the last asked to leave when closing lights flash to send the lost children home


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