Like buckets
on a waterwheel
things keep
turning
round
and getting emptied out
the next
day
next hour next
change of circumstance
a while
ago
I held
a spectacular place
in your heart
today
I'm the
past
and it's funny
when you
think about it
I've ironically become
one of the ones I bristled against
for so long
one of the former ones
those
ghosts who wouldn't let you be
along with your mother and other
consorts
all distortions
in your present
plaguing someone
else
and I'm
untouchable
I'm the
past
unavoidable
as the smell of gas when a pilot light goes out,
and here to stay.
