About Forgetting

I forget where I am and I separate. I always sit and I’m always separate. Even now glancing out the window in dashes every other second when the outside yellows glow peripheral. There was a car, then a delivery, then a raindrop leftover from last night sliding out of memory, then I decided I had astigmatism and the lamp was looking suspiciously luminous through the glass so it must be the north star. These stories I find in perforated little fits. Stories confessing themselves all around me on pages unrelated and I don’t have time to finish them all so there’s never endings and the beginnings are never-ending. I forgot where I was, I was at work and the keyboard revealed itself. I forgot where I was, I was eating an apple and found out where it’s from. I forgot where I was, and this is about forgetting.