Bent and Beat

i play the same song twice
while watching a shooting star herald the dawn
the sleeping town doesn't notice, just rolling over and blindly groping for the tranquility called "snooze"

what yesterdays are hidden in songs so old, popping vinyl memories of childhood?
old songs, songs you've not heard since you were so very young are so much deja vu, strange familiarity
the meaning of the sounds of things we knew before we understand meaning
and the chain of memories they evoke
her face, her face, and your face

perhaps we are nothing more than experiencers of songs, the places where they live and grow

i play the some song three times, three dozen years
a song that reminds me of the same street
and the same porch, peeling red paint, wrought iron rust

and this all mostly goes nowhere, just like listening to old songs
random flicker of yesterday and today, impression and repressions
and like the songs, it will come to pass quicker than not
that i will forget all about this
and perhaps come to find it again some distant day