plaster the future to a mask and
weld another day to the iron year
trap an image in the steamboat and
let it sail to the top of a mountain on thin air.
break your dream a thousand times
RE: kept them safe in your email drafts
and have deleted so many days
from then on.
taking the hand of a small lost moment
are you lost, too? you say no
but it couldn't be less true.
where did Sunday go, where are those 24 hours?
--clutching your head with your hands
the realization that this day won't last
in the thread of memory
twenty years past, and the seconds you once grasped
roam free in some unknown dimension.
one year has passed, falling from the swing
the joy of circles in the park
spinning up and away all the way 'til it becomes some
memory in the fabric of space
into the stars, eyes stare, reflect the vastness
we hold so dear
This poem is actually supposed to be a rap, but I haven't yet set it to music.