to when we first met
(and if i have changed
Well,i can change again
Chameleon/shapeshifter/organgrinding monkey
This circus has no memory
It glows town to town like reports of gunfire/we
are caught between that which we carry
and the promise of a better tomorrow
We know too much.We know little.We know nothing
Much has been made of survival(it is a song
These words were the last upon the lips of a forgotten man
In beds,resting,rusting,rotting-elders
awaiting the sweet kiss of visitors.You give them bliss
They remember this(temporarily
Tell me Zen-is it only what we remember will save us?
or is it an indefinite promise-
that we can make/create/recreate ourselves
in the image of what we wish
or will we simply turn over and say
"this is only another dream-
and it will pass away"
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