short on time and change and mind
fret forever in yesteryear or worse
in some pipedream tomorrow
leaning on the backs of some other
those people, these things, technoadvance
save us, save us, it pleads.
tis a child's cry of "mommy!"
every head will turn till
they see it isn't theirs.
pull out a single hair with wet bulb
at the end, we are caverns inside,
just like weeds, pull up the root.
no skin in the game for our fellow man.
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