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Concrete and Shoes

The cool lights of a room past the view,
past my view. NO    DON’T     YES    NO
                          TO LOVE           UNFORTUNATELY
                   TO JUMP, NOT                     IN ORDER TO LIVE
These are not sounds
but the echos of feet. Your old shoes in the corner
breathe like cement. Before and after coalesce
and so do right and wrong, but not like that: like
a mist in the forest or a channel playing back
static on the television. These things we never remember
because we do not forget, they stay with us. They
are the screams of nothingness. Once you told me
I was afraid, but I wasn’t afraid I was too afraid to speak.
There is a difference.
And to speak is our birthright, a lamp left on
when traveling from home. We are caustic and careless
and oh so beautiful. Did I tell you that you were beautiful?
now, I can’t seem to muster the words to emptiness.
And you still sit there unaffected and pristine. Not memory
but the vivid day itself through eyes once glistening now nothingness
now cold air now concrete falling through the floorboards.