remember and rob

sometimes I crave
the friction of a new notebook
undecided
whether I have enough poetry
to be able to ink
through its daunting thickness

the truth is
I'd rather pour my heart
into pages that are going to be 
forgotten tomorrow
like parts of me 
scattered
across time
and geographies

I list out the digits
that mark today
reluctantly
almost as if I 
want to remember
and rob this timelessness
in equal measure

but this - forever 
being stuck
in paradoxes
in loops
but also endless playlists
is perhaps 
as comfortable 
and familiar 
as it's alienating

how many instances
along time and space
can I point to 
that felt exactly 
like this
a lover's arms
home's windows
streets that had
scraped my knees
people who had
felt mine

this life
is nothing
but an act of 
nerve-wracking
courage

some pluck it
from the bottoms
of whiskey bottles

and others from
withdrawing to
the pillows laid out
by their soul
only to emerge
as music and melancholy