I watch the ripples change their size
But never leave the stream
Of warm impermanence
And so the days float through my eyes
But still the days seem the same
And these children that you spit on
As they try to change their worlds
Are immune to your consultations
They're quite aware of what they're goin' through

Tuesday, February 11, 2014

Story Bone

When you're in this line of work, you develop a memory for details. You remember how you stood, what position your arms were in, how the other person moved, what their history was, the look on their faces, the color of their eyes. But I still have problems keeping names.

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