Where are we going, O Allen? And soon again we will be alone.
Soon again, I know, we will be alone, in the doldrums of the deep pages we hide ourselves within,
And in the jeans we wear you will hold me in your back pocket, and in my back pocket I will hold the memory of you.
My back pocket which has stray fuzz and lint, a place too cold for you, but the only place I have which I can put you.
I’m sorry, but my pencils are being put down and the white boards cleared for tomorrow to replace me,
And tomorrow is unclear for me, the fog not yet set in that I will have to walk through,
The fog that was put there by yesterday, which will lay until next week when I am far passed.
And as I’m walking through the fog I will pull you, Allen, from my back pocket and walk through taller.
May 8
May 8, 2026 at 10:43 AM UTC
Where are we going, O Allen? And soon again we will be alone.
Soon again, I know, we will be alone, in the doldrums of the deep pages we hide ourselves within,
And in the jeans we wear you will hold me in your back pocket, and in my back pocket I will hold the memory of you.
My back pocket which has stray fuzz and lint, a place too cold for you, but the only place I have which I can put you.
I’m sorry, but my pencils are being put down and the white boards cleared for tomorrow to replace me,
And tomorrow is unclear for me, the fog not yet set in that I will have to walk through,
The fog that was put there by yesterday, which will lay until next week when I am far passed.
And as I’m walking through the fog I will pull you, Allen, from my back pocket and walk through taller.
