hair in the light, in the night breeze and i find myself looking back and seeing and i wonder sometimes why life is filled with random accidents we'd never seen coming and i really ought to turn the lights out, close the laptop...sleep and maybe in my dreams things will become more clear as to why i've been an emotional wreck since i returned to the room but i know and yet i don't...and everything is unclear and everything is about those brief flashes of brilliant light that remind us of all the past encounters with brilliance where you sit and wonder for maybe the rest of your life...that shooting star...

but i know better now even though i spend my life shooting from the hip...but i know better and isn't it funny how it was ten years ago, back when i first found voice or thought i did...but really? him sitting on green street a few years past and i never found reason enough to go back and disturb the dust and so i turn to t.s. eliot to tell me a love song about love...life...random flashes of brilliant lights that tell us it's time...time present and time past
are both perhaps present in time future
and time future contained in time past.
if all time is eternally present
all time is unredeemable.
what might have been is an abstraction
remaining a perpetual possibility
only in a world of speculation.
what might have been and what has been
point to one end, which is always present.
footfalls echo in the memory
down the passage which we did not take
towards the door we never opened
into the rose-garden. my words echo
thus, in your mind.
but to what purpose
disturbing the dust on a bowl of rose-leaves
i do not know.i do not know.