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09 December 2018 @ 01:16 pm
cumpleaños chica, no hay que preocuparse  
in an absence of acceptable poetry, we are left
to ourselves and at times with each other: reconsidering
the proportions, the scale in our lives
                                             i could put down cards about it
                                            i could fictionalize and imagine
                                                                   i could just let it be
                                                                                        that's the thing of it
                                                                                                   i could let it be.
                                                                                        it's a strong option
                                                                                        perhaps the best

                                                       but i can't.
                                                                  at least that's what
                                                                  i keep telling myself

so long ago
so very long ago
           i'm not even sure
                      i understand
                      the era's chemical
                      composition                        and yet i return
                                              i always return
                                                        i return and return again
                                                                   i don't know that it's even
                                                                   the idea of it at this point
                                                                              more the shape and texture
                                                                                         the humidity
                                                                                                    the fall of light
                                                                                          it can't be changed
                                                                               and yet.
it's sad and i'm tired of it
it drains me, it leaves me
           empty
                      it just
                                 leaves me
                                            like everything from
                                                                  that time
                                                                                        and yet.
           i don't know. i keep
remembering. i don't know
           what i am remembering.
                      just the mechanisms of it.
                                 the emotional movement.
                                            the simple comfort
                                                       of thinking about this
            again           and again and again        again                       again

in an absence of acceptable poetry
           we must become poets ourselves
                                 so let's begin
                                            if you could
                                                       say something to me
                                            if you would
                                                       say anything to me
i wish you could have seen me
in one of those moments
           when i was something to see
                      i wonder what you saw instead
                                 i wonder what you remember

           and how you lingered in my periphery
                      and how you remembered my presence
                                            with your touch
                                                       it would have been something
                                                       to be held by that
                                            to hold it myself
                                                       it would've
                                                                  but it wasn't
                                                       i can't keep thinking like this
                                                                  i won't live out the year
                                 but what else
                                 am i going to do
                                            my daily practice
                                                       what i do to remember myself
                                            how i touch myself into form
                                                       oh if i could i might
                                                       oh if i would i shouldn't
                                                                  who am i even anymore
                                                                  who was i
                                                                             where is this going
                                                       if only i knew
                                                                  what i needed to find out
                                 in an absence of poetry
                                            we cannibalize ourselves
                                                       from our own histories

                                                                             no gain
                                                                             no pain






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mood: might want to try turning your device sideways for this one
music: orbiteer - descent