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Sunday 9 PM

When younger, less afraid of dying.
Even now, less afraid of dying
than fearful I am already too dead for fully functional resuscitation.

Maybe it’s just another Sunday 9 PM,
last dregs of responsible weekend parenting,
trying to remember, or forget,
why I thought parenting would be good for my spiritual life,
unlike eremitic vows
or even celibacy.

No, not for me
such traditional socio-pathologies,
our generation will become eco-mentors
of polycultural cooperativity!

What an exhausting idea,
swollen with multisystemic mediocrity,
sad happiness of merry despair,
meeting alien teenagers,
shape-shifting into truly terrifying young adults,
half way between my eternally wise ZenZero bicameral ecoconsciousness
and their wildness,
their unreformed perfect creepiness
stretching my boundaries of reasonable life expectations.

I’m far less afraid of dying
than I fear their fading away without me
to remind them each and all
of how utterly exhausting we are together.

Another Sunday 9 PM
remembering to forget
my spirited natural life
if only until 6 AM.

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