Candy Tales
Beautiful people are washed-up on sandy shores.
More buttery lobster commercials appear.
Evening gowned elites drip like sequined icebergs.
The young are headlong as usual
and will not stop until they mend us into their dreams,
They sew our jester hats with a pitying love just as we did.
It’s impossible to regret anything
when the very ground under our feet
is begging for less fabled tales.
We who still dispense myths like candy
must be seen to be able to function
on the old fictions for a while.
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