destination junk noise
Trembling yesterdays.
The memories so reptilian.
Foreign and distant, taken away like yesterday’s scraps.
Nails of dead cells scrape interconnected patterns onto chalkboards and coloring books.
a child’s plaything to reckon with.
Pendulous, I reach but the well of youth runs venomous today, tomorrow, yesterday, forever.
you see…
If I had a bag of miracles I’d reach inside and pluck one out, probably stare at it a while before making it bear fruit.
A veritable vineyard of blossoming wishes would open before me and beckon me back to the glorious days of Pizza eating Kung-fu Turtles, inline skates, and technacolor t-shirts.
but my destination isn’t the past.
it’s the now.
and though I find my self envious of what my own children have, that precious innocence that I can no longer bathe in, that I cannot reclaim. I am happy.
still.