To buy a jacket

A pocket is where I stuffed you

I remember that all that stuff about me was important out there

But never in here

And the cultural trust of my inner spore matched that ambition…

I took the bags off my shoulders at last…. Looking back I probably didn’t need them the way I thought… always bursting then empty

Always crooked the path..weaving it .. Driving my tragic carousel.. One more beer

I wore those rounds and shot that vein… I stopped long enough to remove the cap and inside I was green with growth

Who remembers all that pain once you’ve learned to embrace the past.. Like stars… bright burning in odor…

Who remembers?

Art credit: Herbert James Draper - By Summer Seas (1912)