Out of Fashion

Change by chance
is necessity only

writ large on some abandoned

shop front window

an olfactory shift in fashion

of senses rendered redundant.

The always fickle boristas
hovering in transit
will grind you up to order

pleats and flares
spats or sandals
a gruesome gruel of kitsch,
money, fame and passion.

No body lasts anymore.

No one keeps a watch
on where they've been anymore.

No thing is built to survive
or linger on anymore.

We're all out of fashion
from the moment we conceive

our own conception of

what's become our own

modernity.

Ken e Bujold

©2022