Oh, yes.

I remember

When,

Last year

We travelled

Or was it,

You see,

We always holiday in,

Or perhaps,

It is just something

We do.

 

It isn’t easy when,

But you do your best

Ha.

 

Catch-phrases

Wilting on the vine.

 

Dying for originality.

 

And,

The plane touched-down

At the small

Airfield

At the

Foot of the Andes

And

Our backpacks

Were

Falling to pieces.

 

I spoke Spanish,

My mate,

He,

Didn’t have clue.

 

Ah.

 

The last time I was

Here,

It was

All

Different.

 

No.

I am not

Listening.

I am not

Hearing.

It is not

The way

I work.

 

Steady flow,

Stream

Of words

That

Rat-a-tat

From my consciousness.

 

Ebb and flow

Of memories and experiences

That aren’t interested

In giving yours air.

 

Circular phrases

Repeated

Ad

Nauseam.

 

Sipping,

Sitting

And

Staring at the fire

Late,

Into the night.

 

Time passes,

They grow tired

I

Am just getting

Going.

georges melies a-trip-to-the-moon

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