FORGETTING TAKES PLACE
What a bitter day it is, having been,
the wind rustling
in the back of your memory implant.
Foreign life events dip
in schools of issues such as these,
slashing forward, backward,
the squeaky wipers dancing
something minimal on your windshield.
Impending chaos, the flight
of the nightingale,
now plug in
some naked insistence past its expiration date.
in the size of your confidence interval,
however anticipated the word.
If you hate it,
it rains, it washes over and away.