The Loop

The format is unshakeable, on the dot a central european town hall clock parade,

highlighter pen taut, dental bond in the blue light,

and the grim group in the stalls, bill-scooped same, I think, I can't see eyes.

This was the lava of adolescence,

when we had the lance and the boil,

this is sex of the ages,

a weak hand slap, sickly smiles,

sending up gratitude to everyone who died

for what we knew was amiss,

and what we couched in the sullen versus explosive 

and then the final grown up, "I think we had to?"

and we do, rendered as part of that tradition of

breaking from tradition, propagating ritual.

Going back to the hand slap, 

its weakness is its self-awareness.