We forgot
the command of the language
the need to fight against prose with poetry
lyrical romantisism
how to sing in reallity and not in dreams
how to fly in dreams
how to jump into conclusions
feeling embarassed for a reason
being enthusiastic over nothing
planning the future past
who is that planet that looks like a star over there
our persona in the attic of lydgate lane where we jammed and recorded melodical (yes melodical) nonsense
palpable permutations of youth
We forgot and still have no answer
and cannot show what cannot be discovered
and when angry we can almost hear the clock ticking in the belly of a saltwater crock
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