.
Rocks crack and pass as we lock eyes
against every split second of our lives,
within a complete stranger we become -
a brief memory played back
from time to time and again -
millions of frozen body's sink beneath the wind -
7 days of space
holding up the past, on crutches and straws that
strike the color of bronze
against an old woman's memory bank,
every time she hears the soft crush of chimes -
Artificial property, fills us with the slow moving hours -
eventually, all we become, is a metal block, or a paper cup
or the last great scope
that someone else had carved out of us.
We can remain still
while someone else re-invents us
or, we can become ourselves,
and live once again within us.
Our identity, has long since been
within the shapes of what we make
with our hands.
Strange
how our minds chop pieces of time - from a tree
to build within our minds, a cabin made of logs,
that eventually
burns off, to be re-fed to the debris.
Yesterday I went mad
and destroyed the positive thoughts that I had for you
but today I am all better, because I simply drove
and plugged back in, within
to the suns, to the crush, of our ancient chimes.
.
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