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A Found Lost Memory

Lex Bakey

I now watch a staggeringly forgotten force

It is reluctant to gravitate through painted washes, working into the swooshes

Bristles and water bleeds, choking onto an explanation

Ink marks immersed from a blunder and preserved from a stream,

Exhausting horizon lines, evaporating from the still.

Under consciousness I watch the sound wrestle down a retreating silence

Diving directly into international waters while unwrapping itself like the present.

It is likewise to The Present, however the metaphor is a route to the same story.

Without ceasing, dragging out of itself, the sound is an elastic spring inside warped tides

Tangling with neither a calm nor current, I stand in the wake that rambles on.

There is really not much to say, there is no justice here, only a punctuation of a soliloquy.

Here is a water break, though not entirely.

A vibration arrives then conversely not.

It sails through a pause and the shame throughout open air that follows.

This is a force crashing into the unlikely, equipped and preparing to listen,

Apparently here is where we are supposed to get to the point.

There is nothing I can do besides dig for a swimming vest before someone loses it.

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