Tomorrow, please...

People are stories

but half-baked,

always lacking

that 1%

whip of time

that peels

their maudlin manteau

to reveal them raw.

We read them the best

after letting them

slide like sand.

As spectators,

we take joy in

losing them

in bits each day, dismissing

the unveiling of the decoy

by handing over

the deity wand

to the approaching never

that's set to soil us.