Poem #2,795 | Our Common Condition

We are all cowering from
this condition –
incurable
& defeating
[this slowing
of everything except our
time contained] –
There’s
a coven I knew who’ll be
living in fear of its drag &
pull on their skin –
cracks
& sag-weightings by age
[unstoppable cruelties for
any narcissist –
I knew so
many –
men & women] –
I
will avoid all contact with
such defeated souls –
‘til
we gather
[without flesh]
& honesty is bare-tested