There was once a time
I dreamed to write a novel
or a masterpiece
How people clamor
when a tragedy happens
"for crying out loud"
Enter history
even The World Trade Center
is a non-event
Remember Zoomers
can never forget the time
when all the clocks cease
Even the noughties
born after millennium
Y2K crisis
Worked out after all
the Dark Hype of Capital
wore a holy shroud
As a wanna-be
poet or writer, I failed
India ink spent
Still I write poems
only a few will then read
what is the point, son
Of the Nobel Prize
and other vainglorious
pursuits, my iris
Necessarily
brown, as I am South Asian
constricts or dilates
Concerning flashbacks
from drug abuse in high school
I was acting out
Exit my romance
with destructive behaviors
though no mock debates
Against excessive
participation in sports
had created doubt
Trouble always comes
in threes, it seems, they make noise
the click of a gun
I know not of guns
limited experience
sheltered from the start
Masterpieces write
what becomes necessary
to read, wheels to grease
Exit fifty-three
an off-ramp and not my age
sets this work of art
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