the landscape of what is forgotten

you have forgotten the words
to a song from the windowsill
written in the 70s
to the scenery of the 60s
and the words meant so much
that they became your bones

you have forgotten what you whispered
at the wheel when you were epic
was it fierceness or injury
reminding you
how the yellow line night
would laugh
that it lied and lied and lied

you are a blue jean pocket
of misplaced things
midways and automobiles
decks of cigarettes,
where you were standing when
you found you had returned
and the landscape of what is forgotten
would not speak


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