when thunderbirds and cow bells were authentic and of some significance
this digital age and it's deluge of information
sweeps away yesterday
or waters it down into quaint
(or worse)
ironic
nostalgia
our memories become flaccid and uninspiring
thumbnailed onto silent 8mm lacking SMPTE
polaroids without benefit of photoshop
just red eyed and yellowing yesterdays
and the march of the unrecorded
from arbor to west seventh
the blizzard
just after christmas, toys still smelling of fresh plastic
and the snow lay heavy
drifting over the transom
and the trash ablaze, plastic bags melting
the autumn leaves providing tinder
the smell of the radiator and the rain walking home
along emerson street
and your lazy and lost attempts
that i suddenly empathize with
and i wonder if my hatred for you was such that
it scarred me with it's searing heat
branded me with the pain
and only so that i may feel remorse or the smallest part of sympathy
i must go through it as well
but not just the blade thrust into your heart
i feel the twisting as well
today's cellphone is yesterday's vcr
your legacy is my hairshirt
and i guess i should be more thankful that most of yesterday
isn't so completely archived
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