Your future, the future, is a collection
Of memories you worry like a blankie
You chew and cling to for comfort
That also, now soaked with your own spittle,
Slightly repulses you. Yes, we mean you.
We love you, we hope for the best for you,
And we hope you love us, too. But we know
You. You cradle and clutch these details
In your thoughts, the dates on your calendar
Listing your future events, whatever
Sort of calendar you utilize, even if none.
All the things you expect will happen, will
Probably happen, have been scheduled
To happen, but have only happened so far
As various sorts of symbolic and mental
Notations about what you must prepare,
Things you must prepare for, things that may
Prove difficult or slide sideways or never
Happen at all. They won’t. Those things
Have already happened, if you can think
Of them as what will happen, happened as
Thoughts of what will happen, and although
They may turn out to resemble whatever will
Actually happen next, in retrospect, they are
Not anything but a current future obsession,
Nothing but your curated, never-yet collection.
No comments:
Post a Comment