Sing amnesiac
It wouldn’t be so hard to describe life by its little deficiencies. We can only suppose and miss, talking ourselves into everyone, simply not to be, inventing better schemes to lose our days, implying moments of importance, turning sickness into memories. As each and everyone does it, taking buses, driving cars, turning their heads to listen, averting eyes. Only by second guessing and poor hearing could I reach others, and only in error could I expel these words, uttering sounds that made no sense to nobody else. People bruised me in anger, in anxiety, for lack of space. Then, they went away saying sorry, and what else they knew much how to say, they kept saying until the end. Life could not be otherwise, and shine through these misshapen moments its light. We come to lay those sicknesses by prose, and rest our heads against the written word. Memories ravels - imperfection forgiving, memories come shocking, flashing waves and then nothing, forgetting.
(Paduke)
(Paduke)
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