Would that our threads run stale
and boring day begets boring night.
how we fail to reset our head-clocks
til the time is expressed as a blurred sumi-e

You know how boldly our growth revealed
that the sun's angles were waning and waxing.
No longer, were they the snapshots of an eternal reality
that we knew as children

We are twenty-somethings on paper
and nothings, really, on TV.
We are trying too hard to be who we are.
And yet, still not enough.

I know so very little of you
because I know so very little of me.