thoughts
tick away like clockwork
in a timepiece
that reckons not in hours
but in bathtub tears
in conversations about our fathers
in lines and pipets
in declarations of “fein hamma’s wieder”
in heads poking out the roof-window
in mario party stars
in sloppily eaten salads
in drag race quotes
in repetitions of that one goddamn
tame impala song ...
that is to say
in happy times —
a recollection
that cools the heated words
and dulls the sharpened silence
and although
the regrettable times
are indeed referenced
in these other happier memories,
they themselves
— unrecorded —
will become ever more obscured.
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