Memory is the wreath tossed over our shoulder as we set off with our new husband, the Future.
When new knowledge comes at us like a raging stream, we must slake our thirst at the puddles.
One man's goading is another man's goring.
A planned life is like a planned economy: dull and self-defeating. There's more fun to be had on the road to Serendip.
We'd like the future to behave itself. But the future insists on a seam-bustin' pillow fight, with feathers swirling everywhere.
@jmcdonnell123
Aye, you've a gift fer the visual: "... a seam bustin' pillow fight with feathers swirlin' everywhere. Good one!
ReplyDeleteHmmm . . . why is the "future" masculine? From what I know of the genders, the "future" has a bit of both about it.
ReplyDeletePerhaps the puddles contain delicate bubbles of wisdom?
The goading and goring reminded me of E. Gorey. Can't say why - maybe just the consonance.
I love your poems Joe!
ReplyDelete