I’ve got to get so far past you the birds run out of breath.
I need to push you to the utmost of unimportants that the dust turns into dirt.
I toss filed forgotten newspaper clippings from stories told that are not here or there or where,
My heart resides today.
I toss them,
Yet, find them,
Hobbling in my chest when the trash goes to the curb.
Why can’t you go away?
What makes the memories stay
Stuck on the wings of breathless pigeons masquerading as doves,
Free in their flight through dusty olives groves of romantic storytellers?
Why can’t he go away?
What makes his memories stay
When he has to go?
Go with him, memory bird.
Go with him, dust mites on papered tales.
Take your dirty newspaper to build a musty nest and go so far past me
You run out of breath.