Memories are stairs that don’t go up or down,
more like stumbling blocks.
Ankles grow weak, legs lose muscle,
eyes can no longer see.
Memories infest the deep parts,
rising from the ground
at the worst moments,
attempting to watch the fall.
The moon is a lost memory.
Traffic, lights, manmade consumption
dim the moon into a fragile petal
of opaque obscurity.
Soon man will take out the sun,
stairs will never raise us up,
doors won’t open or close, and walls
will crumble and fall to bits.
Whichever memory is hardest to forget
wins the grand prize, comes out dirty,
muddy, and emaciated on top, but it
is still forgotten.
I stared at you through the mirror,
which would never work in reality.
You’d always catch my eyes,
like gleaming jewels in the light,
and toss them back at me
through the reflection.
This time, you did everything
you could to avoid my gaze.
You searched your pockets
for some long-forgotten sweet.
You fiddled around inside your
glove compartment, maybe read
some parts of the owner’s manual.
Maybe you discovered something
you’d never known before. Maybe
you looked to the mirror without
seeing my reflection and read those words:
Objects in the mirror are
closer than they appear.
February 8, 2011
I use that word way too much. My new favorite word is
and I used to like
a lot when I was in high school (I still use it often, though).
There are a few others I find myself ashamed that I am constantly using, such as
some other four-letter words
but I really like
because it sounds so pretentious and is used to talk about pretentious people talking.
My dad always likes to use
but I don’t really care much for it, although I find myself using it like it’s come to me through osmosis.
sounds good, is nice.