tangible childhood

if you're wondering
where my irony has gone
you should ask the snow

you should recall the nonsense;
it's easy enough to remember

how i've aged.
how we've seen better days.


there is something so trite about a conjured poem;
so utterly eventual

to put it plainly:

i once saw and felt in different skin
but this sheath is remarkably dull

and worn down by the years

well, to be accurate,
it's the days
isn't it?

yes, that's right
the days.


if you're still reading
i will tell you

today i spent some time thinking
about my mother.