has to be on its way out, I've got no time to catalogue it all or
really dwell on whether the taste of yesterday is just my favourite
diner item or it's supposed to be something profoundly new,
like I picked it up off the ground or ate a miracle berry first.
Is new the sign of the mind's decay or its wilful disposal
of associations so that the memory sparked is the one of
an object's rediscovery five seconds earlier, so why do I
still hang on to all this stuff, I could find joy and a new way
to walk down the next street over.
I archived what my parents couldn't but then
pen and ink isn't obsolete and whatever survives
will be there as long as the paper holds and holds some part
of their continuum, the bounds from before me seem extreme
as will a hard drive that neither plugs in or transcends digital
degradation.
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