In That Memory

i read your poem; it said:

the war is over.
just another way to say,
the new war starts now.

but the wars that you and i fought
were over so long ago,
that now all i can do
is write pretty words about them.

i have fought and won
and lost
so many wars since then,
that all the world is a battleground,
and all the people in it may be collateral damage.

i, too, would clone that memory of me,
and send it forth to do the good
that i no longer may do myself.

and would that clone love you,
as did i?
would he (it?) see the world in you,
as did i?
could he truly hold you
and lose you,
as did i?

i do not know.

but i am not that memory.
i am what i have made myself to be.
twistings of nerve, muscle and sinew;
flashes of inspiration among the morass of the banal;
music conceived in my head while i fly to meaningless destinations on two wheels;
music, played at the moment it is conceived;
focusings of intention, calmness of spirit, and force of solidity;
and love that i will not bind.

i am sorry, cara mia,
for there can be no clone,
no other one to take to war.

there is only me.

Los Angeles, January 18, 2014

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3 thoughts on “In That Memory

  1. Rabbit says:

    You are right. There is no clone…
    But why war, and not peace?

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