life trickles past your ears to the dark pools
in the furthest seating sections of an all-hours diner
memories cling like dust on a record to the grooves of your mind
skipping over your favorite verse
the absense of the past in one's mind leaves you searching
for a foothold in the surface of your current situation
and though you blocked it out awhile back your heart's still burning
like a disc still skipping we're still waiting with anticipation

evidence of your ignorance you stand for nothing
with hands in your pockets and your palms...
your palms are sweaty.