Forgetting Takes Place

 

What a bitter day it is, having been,

the wind rustling
in the back of your memory implant.

Foreign thoughts swim 
in schools of issues such as these, 

slashing forward, backward, 

the squeaky wipers dancing
something minimal on your windshield.

Simple is good and ready, 

the thing that rhymes 
for those in need.
 

* 

She knew the time, 
she wanted lunch, 

and generally didn’t appear,

distributing random reflections,
rhyme nor reason joining her side.

This seems to us, it does, 

so much the ambulance, 
the mercy kiss.

Perhaps the tone deaf really
shouldn’t sing

in front of a live audience.
 

*

Impending chaos, the flight 
of the nightingale,

now plug in
some naked insistence past its expiration date.

Bias plays
in the size of your confidence interval,

however anticipated the word.

If you hate it, 
it rains, it washes over and away.