Picked up a copy of

One Hundred Years of Solitude today,
its one of my favorites.

I’ll never forget Pietro Crespi,
the sing-song sadness about him.
Its an air far too familiar.

Still alive who you love,
sadly not in his case
but never the matter.

Blunted
searching for the individual.
I wish time magazine would have
named the individual the person of the year,
since this is the year that they’ve almost all but completely
vanished.