Travel ages the soul
Like clocks on trains
Run fast
Reaching the line’s end
Still deep in thought
Slow the mind
Wasting a journey
Is like wasting a body
Prepare for approach
Arriving unready
Is disrespectful to life
Be grateful
For the change in setting
Or the time-effort saved
By staying still.
For many months
Waking to the same sound
A compact disc
Loaned by a friend
A morning reveille
I ignored the future
Mistaking the fog for priority
Dragging my bones westward
Failing to account for taste
Never removing the music
From where it stimulated awakening
Meaning I returned home
Every evening
Uninterested by change
Absent stimulus inherent
Inheriting a lasting memory
That would lie latent
Dormant until last night here
When leaving neuro-somatic downtime
I established my space-time location
To be couched in terms of
A conscious doze
Decades having elapsed
Sand, fingers, gravity.
Here-now torrential doubt
As to which circuit stores this
A sensorial memory, sure
But who is serving me
Who sees the following foe
A badly drawn face
A red background
Easily found in the crowd
Yet number one is unfamiliar
Visualising a sound’s genetic code
A song I never really heard
Taunted by a comment made
In conversation with a friend
From which no action stemmed
Ephemeral like the meantime
Yet far from meaningless
Seeking not time lost
But development ungained
Failing plasticity elapsing
As emotional climates form
What person did I become
In leaving a habit behind
Never fully cultivated
I used to consider-crave
It to be important-lie
To possess-defend
A stock of substances
Capable of performing
Mind-body alterations.
There’s a solid reason
I used to think-feel this way
I consider-regretted my choices
And decide-resolved to change
To increase the chances
Of glory-appreciating decisions.
As I always fuss-obsessed over minutiae
Survival tickets, space-time, efficiency
And want-ascended it to halt.
But I stop-despaired
Having learn-crashed something
Our mind-bodies adopt-enforce programs
Not intend-wanting relapse to occur
Meaning important-happy objects
Remained far from my reach-need
A stick for my chapped lips, being one.
The father shunned
By the refusal of his son
A will to change all
Not deigning to seek approval
She loves me
She loves me not
villemél 
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