monologue
shy of a decade ago, i told a stranger don’t worry, you will live, be tasted time and time again, upon lips & within, someone else’s memory.
i have been a crook, thief but most ashamedly a truant in those matters affectionate; run wicked under lamplights of cobbled-squares in tuscany searching for melodies, heard once, yet forgotten bitterly
and on every redeye-return or highway-feast, i knew, felt, said to myself, that why is it always, the mind retains so very much and the heart, keeps so very little.
















