here lies the radiance of a paraphrase
forgotten specificity
amidst the non-sequitors and troubling musings
honor your circular habits
but there are no sign posts here
there's no backspace
where we are in our second best suits
smelling of cheap beer and vertigo
we speak in fragmented spurts
and await the staccato retorts
answers and assertions
wring around the collars
fancy the lot of you.
and like most of you
it is only a flaw
to read and remain read
follow the lines like a jealous tea cup
no more porous or caverned than the last bit of sneering pride
with our previous conversations erased, left behind,
i'm only to rely on memory,
no space to wallow or revisit words we once wrote
only rewritten for my mind's draft
i hate the space between us.
i want to talk like grover and jane
day late witticisms and strangely uninformed stories
but i have no ink to fill this distance
i know i'd rather sit and wait
than sit and await-
these blank slates,
way too easy than interaction
in all its indisposed starkness
i want to be your phone call
your gentleman in static
still a lifetime away
hiding between these sheets of space
and the memories race
and the conversations fade
and the feelings replaced
and all the memories erased.
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