Ode to Memory -or- Woe to the Taker… (part 2)

Title: Ode to Memory -or- Woe to the Taker… (part 2)

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Woe to them

who seek to

capture the

dawn.

Woe to them

…all.

It has been so

long.

The senses are

filled with

the triumph—

dancing in the

street.

"Escape" "Join"

"Join" "Escape"

They aren't, you

realize, as we

all shall—eventually

—the

same voice.

It is/has

always been—

a game.

The fans of

the opposition

snarl—

No whispering

in the arena:

"Join

Join

Join"

Chanting.

Home-team fans,

fearing for the

well-being of

"our" hero:

"…Escape"

almost breathless

almost a

whisper— —

A hope, a

wish:

louder with

the force of

it all

—— in their

minds.

You've got the

"ball"…

"Join"

"Escape"

The twin baskets

give way to

an elaborate

obstacle course

Someone, you

decide, has

too much

time on

his hands

… his:

women have

never been

this cruel—

Why start now?

You join the

escape through

the woods:

Obstacles …

practicly ignored,

easy——

second nature.

Like giggling.

Like reaching for

your face while

flirting:

Instinct.

"Join"

"Join"

With pain you

realize the collective voice

of the opposition's

fans

—is your own.

Woe to the self

who betrays

the self

publicly, vocally

and on paper.

"Escape" Still an

echo.

If you hate

yourself

What can be

the motivation

of the fan,

but murder.

You stare at her

and she at

you.

"Tag," says she

and touches

you — much

too lightly to be

a tag…

"you're it"

—— almost pronouncing

the words, through

the contraction.

But you love

her.

So you play with

her.

And though you

will her to

win, you

don't throw

the game

(She will enjoy

it more for

the challenge—

if, a challenge,

you are…)

"Escape!"

You scream, clutch–

ing your ears.

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