the instructions are buffered
he noted we muttered–
we are tourists in our own lives,
and passing through with parsing eyes,
already out of date.
We were best before–
We are best before,
the instructions are stored,
and we are to others,
to ourselves.
Memory corrupted,
The endgame erupted,
Without noise or moment,
Into it, catapulted
In the distance dismembered
some beginning remembered
Heartache kept fresh
Alive and uncensored
The instructions are insane
To keep the beauty mundane
And the weight of the willing,
On the wane
What goes up and must come down
Leave the world and hang around
Avoid the pressure of plotlines in pipe dreams
There’s drama in the lost and found,
Drama when we hit the ground,
Drama in the leaving.
