three year afternoon

while the time winds down each
hour has its own way of
sliding among the shallow wind of our
shared histories and plays that were
running across all of the broad brushstrokes
of our times and collecting those hidden
personal experiences that have tumbled along the
edge of this decade’s riverbed while the
changes riding in the storm have never left the
mountaintop of irresistable momentum and each
shocking new headline has lost whatever
surprise had been attempting to brew within itself
after all of our society has brought its
thick skin and disinterest back from another yearly
broadcasters attempt at staying relevent as
the days all blend together when every new
shock rolls on the heels of last week’s nightmare
yet the registering of trauma that fast is what
we are steadily becoming numb to

About jaybeasley2

a writer, a painter, a poet, a wordsmith
This entry was posted in poem, poems, poetry, Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

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