I keep going back, a minute, a year, a decade or sometimes two
wondering who I was back then
and when I return to the present it has past
I know it’s just a shift in the light where the memory turns off and then on to a night long ago or a minute ago, well, I say that I know but I don’t know at all
it’s like I’m banging my head against a brick wall and it ends with sending me around several bends to arrive in someplace that’s the same place and sometimes the same time too.
and sometimes I’m lost in a maze where the days roll over me as if I’m drowning at sea
and sometimes I’m not.
© 2017, John Smallshaw.