Nostalgia, Like Any Time

Ah, in the days when
everyone held hats
firmly to their locks

against ill winds
and the depths of depravity
could only be thought

with the faintest of winces,
like listening to a drunken
aunt. Ah, then, then

nostalgia swung bold
and free, her hat held
firmly to her locks

like the hangman’s noose,
like flesh on an electric chair,
like hatred

then. Then innocence held
tight. Reigned. As always.
As always.

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