Born Too Late

I don’t want to watch that show.

I don’t want to buy that phone.

 I don’t want to be swept up within yet another pop culture drone. 

I don’t want to buy that bargain.

I don’t want to see that sale. 

I don’t want to find new things to buy at all. 

I don’t want a house. 

I don’t want a “nice” car. 

I want to live in a woodland shack heated by log fire. 

I want to burn that ad-board. 

I want to stand in hail storms,

and blasphem to the sky. 

I want to love so fiercely that tears run from my eye. 

I want thunder on the mountains. 

I want a cloudy sky. 

I want to live forever, and to never ever die. 

I want stories read by voices. 

I don’t want speakers and wifi. 

I want real damn people to talk to without an artificial go between. 

I don’t want netflix, or amazon, or any other subscription. 

I want to tame beasts, not buy them. 

I want a corner of my own, immovable.

I want open fires. 

Home brewed wine. 

I want the great monster to stop watching me. 

I want the smiths hammer to stop whacking me. 

I want to topple something old and plant something new. 

I want something that died a long time ago. 


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