that distills the past, rarefies emotion
purifies delight. lonilneliness. hope. wonder... textured all, and
somehow evaporated are discontentent
ennui
and the present banality of the very same(? aforementioned) sensations
such that the present is so short-changed as to force the question
is it something about neurons?
what a question, given that once,
beside a love
I saw a shooting star tear
the whole sky from top to bottom
is there something about memory
that if I eschewed my present love,
eternity would crown her queen of every tomorrow's past?
what synapses, holy
holy
but my paradigm tells me it was actually a meteorite and that
for all I know
all the stars might already be dead
