Monday 12/12/2005 11:54:00 PM

just a turn of my head
puts you back in my sight;
long ago back in the present
like magic,

as if time is not prescient
upon these moments we collect.

that we have some control
or at least can still pretend that we do.

while these lives pool
in our hands;
drop after drop reached for,
but never caught.

times is not what it takes,
but what we're given.

adn when we're forsaken by it,
we've only oursleves to blame
for having wasted.

it's a color you can't see;
a number you can't count,
and then you try to count,
but there's nothing.

it tastes good only because
everything else tasted so bad;
you could live like that,
but you don't have to.

you could bear it,
and you'd survive, but
why would you want to.

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