Oh God...

... that sucked. That sucked beyond what I had previously thought were the more or less extant borders of besucked-ness. Isn't Fate a good parent-- to keep us on our toes, lest we become relaxed and lazy...

... ten days in Italy, and I wrote five lines, and actually that was a good thing-- because a decrease in poetic output is actually a sign of improved mental health for me. Well. And isn't being pleasantly amused just bad practice?

No worries though. That's been taken care of. Nice resounding shove back into all the stress and mess and nonsense. I suppose that's better, isn't it? More interesting? Ah. But, God... well... I don't know...

... but I do know that this is a new poem and that I'm strapped for titles.

---

Somebody knew once—
and all knowledge is forgotten
and all knowledge is lost
-- between one breath and the next.
and we are lost between each heartbeat
and the next. and we are lost
between this footstep and the next
and we are swimmers in our own tides
and against them.
Still—someone knew once, and I
, I remember,
I remember.

and all knowledge is saved,
all knowledge is remembered,
and nothing ever dies, but it lives
on, even in the whistle of the axe,
even in the mumbling of the survivor
and in its numb walking ghost, soundless.
and I,
remember. I remember.
and in the humming of the executioner.

and all things are waiting, are whispering
and all things are walking with you
through the darkness, and whispering
your name, whispering, “Say it! my name
Name me, say my name!” “A name, say it—
my name!” and I,
remember, I remember a name
and I name it, and I say a name

and once someone knew,
and someone named, once,
and all knowledge is dead
and is dying, and we are dying
and I said it. I said it—
the name I remembered,
I said and I remembered,
and I said it,
the name--