who wore these boots before I came?
with his head held high he walked these trails
just singing all the way
if you listen hard you’ll hear him still
like a dead bug on the windowsill,
a dried husk of memory
reverberations never die
in the bottomless depths of time
they just bounce forever
when she turned to tell me something
I could tell her lips were moving
but I couldn’t make out the words
when she kissed me deeply on the mouth
I could taste what she was talking about
& it cut my heart in thirds
reverberations never die...
all the words I chose when I was young
for the way that they rolled off my tongue
are now as permanent & obsolete
as a field of thrown out CRT monitors
reverberations never die...

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