Millennium Mambo

“A slave to foreign fashion!” present pupils observing the past through curtains. time to greet the new lights, new songs, new colors, new world. the vulnerable, fleeting movement of the prior millenium dissolving into one currently developing. but with the same old habits. it was so long ago but i remember every detail. every tiny thing. every crease on our shirts, every pillow on your bed, how the light reflected on your face. how the music blared away whatever you said, how the dust settled on the surface of your cabinets, making a home there, congregating with the emptiness that followed. sometimes i wish i could forget, but it stuck. it clung to me. snow washes over all of the spaces we used to occupy now, but i still see hints of it everywhere. i’m never forgetting. how do we move forward? circles are a form of counterproductive motion. we’re always wondering if this is all there is. everyone knows cycles never stop, they linger. but there’s always miracles. there’s always the rare case. there was hurt involved. more than one of us felt it; but i know it hurt for you the most. there may never be a remedy for that pain, but we’d like to believe there’s something out there, outside of these four walls. and maybe there is — so shuffle through the tunnel, in that brand new car. hands in the air; feel the wind. you deserve everything. listen to your blood flow, how it beats differently now. watch the road as it seems to fold out of you. save yourself; this is the rhythm of the night. snow globes don’t shake on their own