poetry

origami

The past’s an absurdity...


                  The groove in this song
          Has gravity—
    It draws on me.

Weirdly, rightly-wrong:
    Recalled calamity
          On my coattail.

          It almost
        Means nothing—
                The past’s an absurdity.

            Or is it?
      I avail my memory…
    Of everything,

Some a sting
  On that great something
        In my life.

    Sweet though dry,
      A flagpole on strife;
            It’s no longer the why

      To me.
        It’s never goodbye,
              Nor a too-lingering

          Sadness—
    A madness maybe,
Brightly backlit;

    Or just love,
          And the way I constantly
                  Reimagine it.



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