untitled sonnet in the approximate style of k.m.

all the times you come and then the

time you come to say good-bye

this idea of standing

still for thirty years

this poem

which grows from the
one that came before it

which will lead to the one that

comes next and
all of them without subtlety and
all of them without nuance

without meaning but

meaning is overrated anyway

the rich will continue to

slaughter the poor
no matter how many sad little
                         songs we sing

our children will throw out our ashes

our grandchildren will

forget our names

the future has always been the

best place to go to
erase the past