I couldn’t believe it
these poets speaking
from memory
mesmerized by their
memorizations
recited enacted and
performed
poem to memory
memory to poem
and then I remembered
that all my poems are
memories
put to word
and put to death
remembered
this is where I tear up
the page
and trust the poetry
within
leaping into the
boiling waves
forgetfulness is an
illusion
we remember everything
that we ever remembered
chiseled into membranes
locked away down long
dark halls
stored there in the
basement of our mental
albums of hopes lost
and meant-wells
songs first heard
kisses that really did
last forever
and the lovers that
didn’t
my mind runs marathons
around these synaptic
pathways
every step of the way
my body carried the
weight
but my poetry carried
the meaning
we think in stanzas
my memory is poetry
line breaks
patterns
chaos
observing
discovery
And yet inward only
only serves you
no servant of truth
remains voiceless
in the silence of fear
the time for words on
pages
has been lost to glowing
screens
we must speak louder
to have our truth heard
if corporations are people
and corporations always
put
profits before people
then it’s time we all
ascend
increase our value
and become prophetic
profit margins falling
puts prophets like you and me
before
corporate personhood
but I’m no messiah
no Miss Iowa either
just a madman with a mind
full of dirty poetry
trying to bring back
the dead
one lost relic at a
time
knowing I have lost
nothing
comes from realizing it
was never mine
and this solitude will
kill me in the end
dying to remember
the memories
of my
truth
and that is the poetry
of the
prophets
a memory
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