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The things that are,  are 

echoes,  waves,  third hand 

handmedowns of



The music we listen to,  serves only to

remind us what we heard before and 

where we were and the breezes we felt on


those warm spring nights

those windows left open

nights that lasted for weeks  



I open up a box of blank paper

close all the windows 

turn off the radio so I can focus

on just now or

better still


what will be 












They fall, they fall 

Descending, sweet melody

And what it is, that is not ending

is a sweet mystery

Elephant revival - Ring around the Moon

I know the sea will dry up
eventually, I mean
as all things
I learned about it from an Asimov story:
entropy is a slow crawling bulldozer
and if you give it enough time
it will consume everything

I have a treasure chest where I keep important things
I checked it the other day and a flower I had kept
turned into dust:
micro-entropy at its finest

The house I loved now has walls that are dark with mold
the doors creaking promise to soon be shut forever
the plants that would once frame its face
have enclosed it into a humid dome
roots forcing themselves into the floorboards
tearing their way apart
(nature has a nice way of taking its territory back
but even that will die, too)

The skin on my hands is wrinkly
I have trouble sleeping
anxiety-fueled bruxism
a hard time recovering from hangovers

And yet
every day
when I'm driving, or walking
when I'm silent with myself or others
I hear your words

They haven't gone away, if anything
I remember them with terrifying precision
so much that I can't help myself from quietly mouthing them
like prayer

entropy is not doing its job with this one

but i suppose they won't live forever
if i disappear first

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