Friday, November 4, 2011

File. Sort. File.

Find Sort File

A field of memories from years past floods
Like a wrist slit into the deepest abyss of now.
Find, sort, file, make sense and wonder
Where you’ll be when next the flood breaks suddenly through.
One, two, ten, twenty years?
Maybe next week or tomorrow or even never ever again.
For me it is always. 
I ride the flood like the snake, turbulently, 
Intense concentration on the fact that the flood never stops,
It just passes and pushes on. 
Self-less and with
Satisfaction, as opposed to love,
The balance is set for the horrible mess to continue.
If you don’t worry about what you supposedly can not change, 
Then you are a tool to the user, like a spark plug;
Used, discarded, and then replaced…
Clarity, is the cornerstone of opinion…

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