Wednesday, August 15, 2012

The taste is of Raspberry Sour Cream Pastries

Not looking where I'm going,
I step on a patch of frozen time
and slip,
falling into a memory,
hitting my head
on the sidewalk in Kalamazoo,
which must look like I remember
as memory cannot allow
for change.
I stand
and enter a world,
foreign to this version of myself
and wonder,
as always,
how has time
done this.

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