A Long, Long Time Ago
Beyond the outskirts of a dripping acid reality,
The ghastly remains of a recorded memory.
Play on, it cannot stop,
For raison d’être, even I do not know.
Sometimes our days would converge like a car entering a tunnel,
And every time I drove, I’d crash halfway thru, daydreaming…
A silent movie, but the reel pitters like rain,
Soaks the grass on the silver screen,
And, somehow, we’re in it,
Blasting rainbows of sparkled stars
Into the belly of the dark and pouring sky.
They shoot up and drag their tails along the blackboards of night,
Eventually swallowed by chalky, brooding clouds.
You couldn’t cut and paste smiles like these.
The reel plays matinées at least once a week,
Even though our days don’t meet anymore.
The reality is
The seats are always empty.
The memory plays on.