Parading

isn’t one a suitable lens through which to see another:

“We’re going all the way ’til the wheels fall off and burn

on a page set aside for later. Are you just

We are snow, rain, cold, darkness, we are each product and influence of the globe,

I do trust the strict part of memory, the only archivist

Sometimes I’m in the mood, I wanna live in my pony stall

since between then and now no new coincidences have been noted

I know what life is

Of the seas in the corner

you make poetry out of it