Thursday, April 5, 2012

Tunc Pro Nunc

Driving all day,
Listening to too much
Recorded, repeated
Music, you need
A rest to catch
Your breath, adjust
Your dress, restrain
Your spinning brain.

Here's a spot.
Too late. Here's
Another, OK,
Pull over, stop.

Time was that which
You experience still,
Never what you
Thought to measure,
And your bottomless
Nostalgia for the ever
Fleeting present never
Brings you back.

Here, have some
Of this was that,
The light from the road
That reached you
As your eyes approached
Is what you think will
Happen next already
Shifting memory.

Everything is static,
Nothing ever changing
But the past, the you
That feels each then
As now for now,
Then for now again
In your hot seat
In the sun, denoting
Random observations
As sharp conversations
With yourself as if
With someone else.

The family that got out
Of their camper van
At your rest stop
And looked around
And stared at you
Have climbed back
In and gone.

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