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What is Past
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October 5





The past cannot hold me in a loving embrace.  I run too often looking for affection and recognition in things long dead and purportedly buried.  I return to the ghoulish obsession of digging up old hates and sorrows, longing for support and finding only the cause of the ulcers in my soul.  I wallpaper the crumbling facade not wanting to cover it up but to hold it together, trying to unify something, which is totally shattered.  When I view it with a sober eye, the past is nothing but a slideshow under a strobe light.  The pulse triggers the impulsive belief that it was all real when, in truth, it was the lie I survived.  No life existed in the past and only now is there air to breathe.  The past is all vacuum and I don’t need to be sucked away.



Take an enemy’s inventory and don’t give it back.







Barefoot smokers sit downstairs

chatting on cell phones as I wait.

Wait for the Doctor to come and tell me what?


Tell me that I am ill or hail

based on a hammer hit on the knee

and a deep look into my eyes.


I will leave this place hours late

for a life I barely understand

but am grateful to be living.


Like one of the dancing flowers from Fantasia

I am swept downstream,

but an amazing journey even while I wait

in this six by eight room.