Monday, December 2, 2013

You ever get to leave?

You got an old hat
spins on its shelf alone,
some odd square foot ledge
and nothing in between
that and floor and rising
tide, age and circumstance
play a game around it,
old fashioned hat, isn't fit to
wear 'til the sun come
knock it down, on the last day
watching earth plummet into
the forever ooze of primal space,
you'll be wearing that ole hat then
I swear,
making sense like ya got to always do,
I swear it's swelling under the waves
pink lemonade cuts the shore
in half/halts/wilts
while you--whilst I--nagging
mind numb feeling of collapse,
and the hat, gonna sit and stare
at the aftermath,
explain it to you--
on the note left on the bronze plaque,

you ask "what's engraved there?"--
"what was it that I wrote?"

I 'll save it for another day,
cause I'm forced to move on,
left all my books on the shelf underneath too,

we're all forgetting some soul there,
watching out,
we'll all be dust in some bygone age,
the hats looking on,
calling our bluff--

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