Unscripted
Poetry Sunday
I worked and played from dawn to dusk
and scaled the cosmic hills,
losing sleep and speeding recklessly
past parameters of the city limits,
and in my impetuous youth,
it all felt so incredibly boundless.
There was a thread of steel
that stretched like a flexible rubber band,
on some intravenous highway,
moonlit kisses that melted the sidewalk,
a stellar disc that could shatter your eardrums,
but played smooth gyrations like sweet honey to the degenerates of my tossed generation.
I may not have been millennial,
but we were analog before we were digital,
our thoughts and vibrations becoming sleek and compact,
our indignation righteous,
our words pure and unrehearsed were all that really mattered,
and the stench of honest, forgotten lyrics forever buried in the sand,
all remind me now, somehow,
that I once loved him deeply and without compromise,
and life lingered, totally wild and unscripted.
© Connie Song 2021. All Rights Reserved.
