Monday, July 26, 2010


This is the life of memory
in a time of decay,
a half-remembered world
buried in misshapen grabs
of motion and color,
whose emotional content
lay just as much in those
fanatical teenaged vows
as they do in the mundane glimpse
of a stroke of light
on a cream-colored ceiling,
or a snatch of congas
against the fleeting April rain.

This is the topography
of an emotional era
slowly flattening beneath
the lifetime being heaped upon it—
and this being a human geology,
emotions, buried, do not emerge as diamonds;
they become our sand, our oceans,
our soil.

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