The Immortality of Youth
Our prophets are sf writers,
we were raised on violence,
our favourite pastime is sleep,
we don't eat. We go to parties
where the famous hang out
and ignore them. We have
deep discussions on ledges,
feet dangling. Love, death and time
is small talk to us. We scratch
and bite and kick all night. Our bodies
twitch in our winding sheet.
We thought we were immortal;
now death knows our address.
