“WHAT HAS PAST”

Grinning with fists,
my fingers rest
on a keyboard, but
it might as well
be a Ouija board.
Each word summons
the next;
some neuron
remembering
what has past.

Writing my memoirs,
I am a séance unto
myself.
Grinning with fists,
forgetting
is useless.
What haunts me
is not the present.
What has past
has so much more
presence than the
present.

narrative poem written on 03-23-2014 by: on mattkane.com
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