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“When time had known prior measure”

“When time had known prior measure”

Being young everything matters
so desperately- so right now,
after this it can’t be made the same
ever again.

Abandoned play by play
the dusk nearly unloading
it’s great grief in some eternal
back pocket. Mother,
when it’s all over
what will you name me?
Not being able to love as deeply
as unintentional, automatic
as before.

Our madness will never out reach
this prior life, light in searing Autumn-
cool kids turned hipster forgetful
alive, called living, but something awful
from where I sit.

To swim in memory
it’s as if you can touch
only the edge-
and so much of it is dragged
already straight into the less
well lit room, foraging narrative
from soil that barely births
surprise, barely reprises our better half.

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