I have not forgotten the names and faces of children gone and turned to dust on “dawn’s highway bleeding”. Mountain range, unmarked burial sites of Native encampments all those years ago. If memories of the deceased are truly some Atheist afterlife then we are all fucked, up the stream with out a paddle and all that nonsense. But sometimes when hurricanes come, it will move that damn boat. Perhaps to crash along the shore, or stir the water just enough to become unstuck, to become mobile once more. Some gymnastics of the English language to get you out of tricky situations. There is no pure goodness. And if there is it’s only temporary. I have forgotten the feeling. Absent-minded, steel-toed shoes. Aggressive, unapproachable, menacing. Mind, a blank page. The ink gets absorbed. This is dementia. This is Alzheimers. This is something beyond the Gods. Authors of our own worst fears and domains. A New York City hotel room, gazing out onto clear streets and Central Park West. Alcove adorned with sconces and pearls. Regimented wedding night romance over and over again like a forklift in a warehouse, a machine pressing papers, newspapers. Same libertine devoidness of spirit. Incongruent, juxtaposition, Spanish acrobatics. Incredible soapdish superhero. Captain Showerhead and he will spray you first with cold water before he gets increasingly warm. Until that point, where you forget that you are fighting him and just relax and bask in the glow.

Author: Roe

30. she/her. Songwriter & Trek Punk Soul™.

2 thoughts on “forgotten”

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