in chicago: notion 4.

notion 4.

we revolted against the time
in order to find what remains
when the bones are bare.
not that the universe
really cares, eventually
another big bang,
and a different life form
roaming the earth
after the centuries of
our memories.
is there recorded history for everything?
and if so, who’s recording it?
are we willing to admit
that at a certain point
the world was crashing?
galaxies eventually became
a song of lost memory.
no one remembers me,
or is it that everyone’s
constantly staring. i am a being,
quietly, breathing me heart.
all feeling, but conscious
can’t see everything.
can’t give up on thinking
the feelings, we emit.
i must admit. i must admit.


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