Across table
Across coffee, lot, hood,
I remember the moment and
Where we stood
My historical marker
Activated in automatic
Replay
I respond in taken breath
What shit!
That nature provides such late blooming brains
Can no one hear warnings before 25? I thought I would never forget
What good is the memory?
That study told it was just like a sip of the old
That beholden and bent
Fading along the way
Fading as carbon-ed copied copies
Smudged and loved as
Stitches stuffed with love and stuff
Puffed and later quite defluffed
Nothing cleans it better than refusing to see it as it is
But seeing the same
As lovely as ever
Declare
What if that knowing invades
Like counter, coffee, hood and shifter
Like nothing swifter
Than anything we can not control
If intrigue goes farther
Than intended
We will know
Vulnerably and responsibly so
What it is that we know
Like pulling back on string-ed bow
Again loosing arrows [look out below]
Then we will just have to
Decide where to aim
Before we have arrows in hand.
If we shoot
No one gets hurt?
We can never let that happen again.
Steering is secondary to the decisions to turn but without destination we are just on a ride,
no?
Thin Tin String 