Proust was losing me a bit at first, with his childhood meanderings in Swan's Way, yet now
I have truly been transported and have indeed 'found time' in Proust's masterpiece,
In Search of Lost Time (vol. 1)

Where does the time go, we often ask...
up your ass is one answer..
it flies so fast, a common cliche...

We see grey hairs and creaking joints come in, loved ones pass on

But something wild and alive thrives inside us
everything we've ever smelled, dreamed, tasted or srewed is alive somewhere in our soul
and are we not a product of that amalgamation of experiences....

the quantifiable result of a life well lived?


DO IT BABY, DO IT
Do whatever adds poetry to your life
it's only poems that you can keep in the end
you can't spend money on your deathbed
but you can let a poem (or a lover long sinced estranged) roll
through your
mind


Do things
that you would like the memories of
to roll through your mind
at the moment of death,
bringing a wry smile