Bad Superannuated Hipster

I’m a bad superannuated hipster
without cred,
an old resister.

I feel like an imposter
because I love myself more than I love the Lord.
I’m a bad superannuated hipster

who hasn’t hit pay dirt
yet,
just a pocket-resister

all day where the skies are not cloudy
and the desert sand is hot,
a bad superannuated hipster

who should have known better
than to play Romeo to that Juliet—
I just couldn’t resist her

when she came on to me like Shelley’s spirit, Alastor.
But when I tried to grasp the vision, it fled.
I’m a bad superannuated hipster,
a weak resister.