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Thoughtless.


Thoughtless.

The jotless jot
down memories,
forgetting to forget
with thoughtless thoughts
unhindering
unshaded silhouettes.

When shadows die,
I'm thinking I
am fated to regret
ever living
in the sun- I'm
sedated in my debt.

For, we owe the sun
or so I've said
behind
a faded cigarette.
Knotless knots
dismembering in
cascaded beads of sweat

are not less knots-
remembering
what
I'm dying to forget:
All I've done is
all I've done,
and I'm
not a silhouette.

See, shadows come and
shadows go,
with
the sun in either set.
I have come and
I will go, but
that
hasn't happened to me yet.

It'll rain and
It'll snow
is
what I'm dying to forget.
So I remember only sunny days,
forgetting silhouettes.

And that has been the difference-
be it real or be it true-
as falsity is optionless
in
the question that I knew.

But I jot 'em down-
the jotless-
however they accrue.
Thoughtless thoughts
forgotten-
be it real or be it true.

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