walking down the streets of my life,
and if you were really there,
hiding behind a brief thought or two,
hoping one day to become a memory,
why did you feel the need to spy
on many of my private recollections?
perhaps, to modify them or
alter them in some bizarre way,
so your intrusion would be accepted?
but, like an old lover, you are dead
to me and gone forever like also
is the hair on a barber's floor swept
up and discarded in the daily trash;
irrelevant thoughts are kept mutually
exclusive don't you know and retrieved
when needed from mental currents.
14Feb14
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