thursday, july 9

   one of the (myriad) basic problems
with slowly attenuating your own memory
via a steady routine of sleep deprivation,
substance abuse, distraction,
generalized evil living,
and, for that matter
being older than about 26

is that you start to repeat yourself
the ideas never really go anywhere
but you realize with an increasingly
brutal frequency
that you've had them all before

   you keep scraping at the soil in which you imagine
can be shaped the foundation of some
wider, cleaner kind of industry
some quietly sunlit waking life

but the tools are dull
their edges thin and curled
the handles rattling loose with age
and seasons piled out in the rain

tags: topics/poem

p1k3 / 2015 / 7 / 9