30 Something

Parade through childhood, Jump from boyish fevers into man-sprung anguished, Billions of imperfections somatic in verse, Crops of fallibility prosper in the sand, A nightmare of wills emulate, A chapter of life, in the atmosphere of Judas, In the size of Neptune, salivate for the ‘Lost Age of Indiscretion’, Rightfully so, long for the absence of bills or the responsibilities that dictate the transition from childish freedoms to adult constraints, A bizarre zombie of accountability, A mute screaming panic, as the ‘submarine of cadence’, descends closer to the darkest of realms, Awake to the inboard sounds of argumentation, Awake, my friend, to the reverberation of 30-something