a deconstruction of memory in words that don't rhyme

end user, a clothesline symphony, two talks at two and chances are, we'll be smiling before it happens.

it happens the way i remember it: ten fingers on hips, two lips to two lips, a breaking of breath-tides. in these orange lifeless vessels called memory we pull safety vests from the rack, slip them over our shoulders, snap the clips across breasts, chests and heave ho heave ho onward a sinner and saint sailing off together with only a collection of thoughts had, undone, rerouted, tired and true as anything that matters.

i keep talking about what happened, and ears are hollow to it's every footstep.

in the back of the line there are those who remember close to nothing, don't care to don't need to don't want to won't and maybe the most of us should be that way ought to be that way but it happens like it happens: charges over hills, a balancing act on high-wires over pits of fire. we move without moving, try without trying, learn without learning. we just keep on keep on keep on keep on keep keep keep keep

just like memory: we have them in our pockets, safe and transluscent, like world orders (at all) and growth tracked on kitchen walls, one mark per inch one mark per inch one mark per week seems like people grow and change so fast it's always out from under us and we fall behind them, but why not? what else've we got planned?

so i choose to remember.

2004-07-19 | 3:29 p.m.
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