so I guess this is it, the summit
not very impressing.
I thought at the least I'd see over the tops of skies
you should know I hid cigarette butts under the stone patio
off the guest wing. now I wish I could just lay on those rocks or at the base of your bed, vanity wore us down like shotgun rounds in the face of our masquerade ballet. I drank the bloods from your fountains of paradise: 19, 20, 21, 22, and 23

then found you in our bed with your fingers in your ***
to make sure we'd fit together more aptly, and now my skin
burns in its own rash of obsessive unforgetfulness, I make my own
******* future with you innit,

***** or no *****
I know nectars better than the Georgians
worship better than Mohammad
skin better than Buffalo Bill
and your name better than my own

Penguin.

Remembering to Sing.   Jack Ritter

If every deaf mute fell at once
into the singing seas,

what rhyming tremolos they'd plumb
from hoarding whales and siren thieves.

We'd fetch their choral fugues with nets
of woven unforgetfulness,

and to this deaf and dreamless Earth,
restore Her songs and memories.

  -- www.houseofwords.com --

My forgetfulness is a more successful entity than even I at times.
My trust in regretfulness often gets the better of me.

But yea,
I hunker down,
surrounded by unforgetfulness of the lack of silence.