bam pow wham clunk splat zonk

dusk is in your eyes as you try to stand on shifty sands at the end of a mind unraveling at least the game is almost over passed down to players you helped shape players you taught the game to players who laugh when it’s not so dark when the music feels light and easy players who have trouble playing now that the walls are crumbling the sun is setting the game doesn’t seem so fun anymore not like it once did at the table playing cards with the boys not like during the glory days before the internet when the sun rose every day even if unseen in the mind of last century as the birds of the heart chirped awake hope each cold Minnesota morning dusk is in your eyes it is time to put the sun to sleep mourn the life of mother who gave love to her sons with unquestioning rays of light turning sprouts into trees