the Revolution

I will my clipped wings to heal, my childhood to end.

Tantalus

I am Tantalus reaching for calloused hands-
Inert in the tide of your waning demands.
Nostalgia laps at shore, making mud from sand...
A fresh rapport takes flight then swiftly lands.

Isolation circles the drain like bloody spittle
Riddle, riddle?
Let the rope go slack in your cuff links and black hat
Corsage and corset
But you're still fat.