This Time Last Year

from Disasters in the Sun by Michael McGuire

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If the universe was measured in inches per light years, I guess there would be no way to separate the tissues from the tears, Suffering is our travelogue whether we park or roam, The path of our pilgrimage becomes the habit of our home.

Dreams inextricable webbed into your memories, We wander the stripped guts of time.

There were no epiphanies just the milk of daily bread, Just the metered rhymes of the hauntings of my head, I’m a hundred years older than I was this time last year, I still no not where I am but
I feel I’m something near.

Nothingness divine mother-sensation’s plague, Till we slip the bonds of time-incognito.

If what I am is any reference to what I used to be, I guess all those little moments are still locked inside the mass of me, I take a mirror and hold it to the stars of the ever dreaming night, And the suffrage of time is nowhere there in sight.

The dead are the mute prompt of the living; will or no. The atrophy of years belies the quantum leap of days and draws the going from the go, The past gathers its worship like any sacred cow, But this time last year will always be now.

Sept. 08

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from Disasters in the Sun, released March 20, 2009

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