Other stories filed under Arts
October 4, 2018
I walk through old memories
as though they are a tulip field,
yet I still envision the future so often
in unraveling waves of new expectations.
And soon, past becomes present,
present becomes future,
and future becomes present.
Every frame of my life,
every shred and millisecond,
falls into near twin copies of itself
until their identity dissolves within themselves.
My timeline collapses like a Jacob’s ladder.
I’m squatting upon the ground, on a carpet decked in letters;
I’m walking with sore arches over rubbery tile,
and I’m sleeping with the smile lines