we are the oxymorons

do you ever get the feeling that all is lost, that we're back pedaling
trying to reclaim it?

yesterday
we had an art life.
today we don’t want to own it.
we don’t want to own up to the fact that
we live to die,
die to live
each and every endangered moment.

ex-pats of indentured servitude
living life on the margins
undamaged,
wildly imaginative
desperate,
unconditionally free.

we, my love, are the
oxymorons
all that is you
and me.