Chalk it up to principles,
or platitudes. A great variety
of world-weary attitudes charge
through the deafening storm
to wind up face down in the cul-de-sac,
and who exactly is going to scrape them up?
For oblivion’s garbage can needs a feeding,
lest it cast its hungry gaze upon us,
the unencumbered. Meanwhile,
we’re educating ourselves
on the finer points of decadence.
My fingers tingle. I can’t spin tunes
like I used to on this account,
but then again, I haven’t wanted to.
This road I walk leads
straight to fucking Squaresville.