Sunday, 8 August 2010


Catching cracked memories from her
And pinning them,
Along with mine,
To the timeline we’ve attached to our actions;
Matching the facts and laughing.

A sanctioning of passion in an irrational field,
Where seasons shed yields
Of people,
And reaping them becomes more difficult;
Glowing as we sow another seed.

Where similar features repeat and you need
Ears in the back of your eyes
When sight is blinded
By an impulse’s convulsive stupidity,
Or an idiot’s fist.

Maybe we realise we liked a certain style,
And actively courted it,
And that’s why those
Who were handy gravitated towards us,
And those who weren’t we avoided;

Or we missed a crashing fashion altogether,
And our selective recollections
Are now best represented
By typed lists that exist in internet whispers,
Or hard drive fissures and silver discs,

And the photographs that were taken hastily
Are the scratches dragged
Across history’s face
That will remain to say
Exactly what we did when we can’t remember it.

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