The magazine folded
was it even a year
and the patrons all got hung out
missed their money’s worth I fear
and I’m not quite pushing 40
but I’m on the downhill side
and lately I admit
I haven’t thought much of the ride
Five years on
from some declaration
whatever I thought it was
was all in my imagination
if it wasn’t for all the ink
visibly spilled
I would count it all a dream
that harsh morning sunlight
killed
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