Thursday, March 6, 2014

5142. AGAIN

AGAIN
'Black treadless tires in an ocean of gloom'  -  I don't
know why I wanted to say that, but I always did and
just did. And so now I'm still alone and the rotting riverbank
is here infested with steel and chains and wire. Some sucker's
broken apple cart and a 1940's lamp, things piled askew; a 
local town heap where people throw junk. It's not like that 
any more, and I realize now it cannot be. I've travelled time 
again; rolled  backwards some into another lamp of memory's 
pale light. My God, but I remember everything so well.

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