There was something (sym)pathetic in the way she watched
the shades of the sky keep marking on
keep harping on
about yesterday and yesterday and all those great things
yesterdaylike tomorrow had nothing to offer
a girl so remarkably past—passed .
Hearing the forgot-ten
ne’er
re-membered
re-collections
re-called
at about an auctioneer’s pace
stuck in young man’s race
balancing in empty space
and still re-membering her
misbegotten face.
she would drink another chandelier and let the champagne clink inside her veins
and swear she’ll never love again
not love again
until the
red has burned into any ashy grey
until today
or
yesterday.
she cannot see how much the world
has written in her storyline
because she’s all en-compassing
and
trying to exonerate a god-dess
who has forgot-ten her name al-ready.
All ready for tomorrow
while she’s still stuck
on
yesterday.
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