Cutting the onions and sweeping the floor

Bad coffee and and an even badder cigarette

We're plagued to forget.

It isn't so likely 

To forget.

Same story, different page. 

Same page, different story.

Uncertainties fitter in ramblings of other times of love 

of being in between

We remember epic moments,

remember? Remember?

Have we remembered?

What does it take to remember?

I remembered once.

I remembered once that I wanted to forget.

and so I forgot

and all was forgotten

until later

when I was reminded.

How do epiphanies come and go like wheat?

days that pass while I'm underneath

trying not to remember

knowing I can't forget.

To great revelations!

To karma as I sleep.

What's left?

Only days yet to come

as we wait and want and wither.

Trying to know.

I don't want to know.

I don't want to know anything.

I don't want to do.

I don't want to do anything.

I want to be.

Just as many were. 

Just as I am,

yet here and now

questions arise while taking tea-

and this is all I could ask really

since it keeps working

until it doesn't really.

Sweep the floor.

Sweep the floor.

Chop some onions.

Don't forget the sun or trees or air back "home"

these are what made you little one.

You can be amongst them, 

but you'd still be wondering, working, walking, whining.

Cutting the onions and sweeping the floor.