it must be that some of the intellectual euphoria i could always come back to, didn't last

i am not as nostalgic as i expected

but there are little cities of thought that burn down every day

because of sickness, age

hurt and

things will continue to transpire
that harden me
for i don't yet have the fortitude to be both strong and cruel
i am saving up my scraps to buy the time, and the place
nothing ticks, or stabs, or points
i scrape away my time and purpose with every day of this compassionate cowardice

tempo

intellectual achilles tear
return worse than ever
i had forgotten about the permutation of thought and word
anything less than a whole reduces
less barbed and more shelled