[Split Eight]

as humans, we've learned to outsource & trade
and fostered codependence til it powered our brains.
I need these gears to turn. need these years to think
and feel the weirdest urge for you to feel the same
& given human nature you'll nod along regardless
like every page you turn belonged to starving artists,
but in the guard of margins we're always writing notes
that we keep to ourselves like it's the only privacy left.
but have you ever read the same novel twice?
what phrases you wrote in a state of unknown
could have made all it right?
instead, my mind collects the most useless scraps
that have no bearing on anyone, in any sense.
on my deathbed, I'll probably sarch for meaning, reflect-
on when we searched for Ted's dog in the Eastside of Cleveland
til the treeline was gone, remodeled by streetlights repeating-
I could read the streetsigns right off with a dreamlike cohesion.
and i'm sure there's significance. i'm sure of it. sure.
when I've burned off the words there'll only be memory left.