Reminiscence is classic...like hemlock or arsenic.

"The stars can't really get too bright here", she said
"Which is a comfort."

Droning, the sound of our city buzzes constant.
Soft light glows for miles,
a giant umbrella saving us
from vastness.

"My courage is never the opposite of fear,
but fueled by it", he said, realizing only after how brilliant it was.

Because being an American is about leaning into cold rain on warm nights,
hitting my open eyes stinging acid
(my black t-shirt sticks to my skin, steaming from my warmth.)

"When did I learn how to be this version of me?
And was it a slow,
soft,
deliberate change
from an American boy with ideals
blessed by ignorance and compassion,
to this American man
crushed neatly into disappearing arrogance and growing passion?" he asked.

("He cries a lot more now...about nothing in particular."
- The Witness)

Paul Westerberg summarized the thesis of our unlabeled generation into a crooked microphone stand before any of us cared about punk rock or irreverence or sex or anything really.

"Everything goes.
Well, anything goes all of the time.
Everything you dream of is right in front of you.
And everything is a lie."

You knew that already.
Which makes truth more evasive than all the lies.

So we try for it; let down, and angry
like mosquitoes with no wings and the promise of flight,

we can grow them by ourselves
but we forgot how.

Flightless, scared cocoons of what could have been forever,
So, we sleep a lot,
and dream about how things were supposed to be,
back when they were real
not just dreams.

"Wake up then. Stop worrying about how you got here", she said.
"Oh", he said, and opened his tired eyes.