Precocity rarely ages well, and I've
entertained the impulse to measure change,
succumbed to the appeal lying in its slow-burn,
recognizing muses as
the subtle bodies detatched from our own.
There,
the superficial rush,
the manufactured catharsis,
gathers tension along the course.
Mortality carries a transparent beauty,
in slight and in number; forever in transit.
A curious and fascinating thing to watch
a writers caliber under such weight of
reality, under such weight
of destiny.
