The Present

Where is the past?
Is it in the corners of a closet
conspiring with some web?
Is it hiding in my slipper,
smiling with sharp surprise?
Maybe we could take the freeway
to meet its shore shining
with seaweed and shrapnel.
Yet, you want to stay
couched to the present.
But the present doesn’t want
us. The moment is a shrug.
Suddenly we find ourselves
contained to a dimming
closet next to the saddest
slipper and some empty web.

4 thoughts on “The Present

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