as we stretch our lives out
scrape ourselves over dry life
like butter over toast
with a too-dull knife
more and more we find
we can't live in the past,
but that's where our life is
where our thoughts go, fast
just the second after think -
thought goes falling back behind
and accumulates pull
on what's left in the mind
thoughts of everything at all
ever felt, ever seen, ever touched
or just imagined, or
some state in-between
and all the weight of it
pulls
we lean forward, pushing slow
as our memory pulls back
as the weight behind us grows
so we struggle, keeping pace
until the pull becomes
too much
until we, too
fall
back into past, and
life scrapes on
no fuss
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