universal history
i have been writing wrong, punctuating words where they don't belong. i should have tried to find words that equate how it feels. instead what i did, was remember: a night in the same city, that day, two lovers echoed my words back to me. my metaphor should've included lodged memories, but i failed to find anything analogous. to the form a poem holds, i can never approach— not deliberately, not without intention. years i’ve never seen, cannot conceive the old age barren ahead but i have been told, that i have. this is what comes through tired, in my lack of imagination. i struggle even now, to imagine anything brute and powerful, something natural resembling the sensation of sudden memory— captive of everything in only one moment. there, you remember the agreeance shared by all lovers, or a curse whispered another night, within an embrace. i wished him, fated him, with insom...