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The Young Have Good Eyes

When the new gens revisited
epidermal ink
I knew it would be awhile before
they had skin in the game

It was a tell
To the coming tribal
A revival of clan
in a hermitic guise
of a timestamped
betoken

of a coming future broken,
the history of which is
being written,
Right damn now.

——

I could crack open that new Friday bottle of Basil Hayden,
and bourbon up to channel that Nobel Prize winning poet,
with an under earphones and riotous rendition of the last song
on John Wesley Hardin. Those Good Ole Days… People.



r.Douglas

I’m spry yet retired. I reside in the inner city of a major metropolitan area of the United States. I read politics. I watch baseball. I hum along with the tune. I June swoon, and moon the bad poem. Post here, are old and new. Opinions are my very own, except when wrong.

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