Only the bad die when they should …

… for only the bad last long enough …”

There is a song out there which claims

painfully, in my 

view, that

only the good die young.

And I wonder if it’s because 

the uni-

verse despises the young as a 

group; the 

young as a set; 

the young as a similarly universal 

bet.

And if I had to, and if I 

could, I’d bet on the young first.

My generation is old already:

too ready to qualify and

mortify and deal and do, and 

do-good, this reality into an

actuality 

where primarily the misadventured 

earn their

pensions and retirements

whilst their charges die on cold streets,

in cold meets, in white

sheets of mortuary

close, where 

death is just an embrace away, and

sadness the daily 

bred.

So let us toast this society where right and

propriety condemn the poor and the hurting

to life’s criminology, whilst those

who administer mighty sentence well-

written

do enjoy their fucking hedonism until

quite golden 

shower and handshake 

grans them coolly, gladly, 

and suave (by the 

way); 

by that smoothly necked 

scruff: that 

exerting of pow-

er[r].




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