Candy Tales

Beautiful people are washed-up on sandy shores. More buttery lobster commercials appear. Evening gowned elites drip like sequined icebergs. The young are headlong as usual and will not stop until they mend us into their dreams, They sew our jester hats with a pitying love just as we did. It’s impossible to regret anything when the very ground under our feet is begging for less fabled tales. We who still dispense myths like candy must be seen to be able to function on the old fictions for a while.