I am not a baby boomer

Where are my depressions and my picture perfect home?
I left my Woodstock and drugs sitting on the counter
of my cold war and Vietnam. I need a drink of freedom
and piece of Berlin’s wall. I will have to download them
on my I phone.

Middle of the Month

I’m like a rent check that
you hold on to until, I
Clear or come.
I’ll place my cherubim
and flaming sword
in your tree of life—
knowing good from evil.
The cables out, rabbit ears
are broken, like bread
we break and partake.