A Note

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By GRAHAM PASTEUR, CONTRIBUTOR

The careening motors of youth overheated,

the aged assembled

in muddled halls. “I have been young,

you know.

I’ve been young and I’ve

had my motor running

and I’ve flipped cars and spilt

wine on my mother’s upholstery.”

Assembled, the aged and the

overheating youth. Gathered

on the crest of a mound of compost,

devouring Styrofoam.

The culmination of diversity.

“I have been young, and

I have felt my motor running and

I have felt the hinges, well-oiled,

traipse the fields, the streets

the sun-baked monoliths.

I have piled into vans

and had pictures

taken before landmarks

only to grow bored.”

Only to overheat and fall prey

to pragmatism and the smoothing

of the cortex.

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