As life used to seem a lot simpler
it was significantly easier to organize,
burdensome years pass impulsively
relatively, right before our eyes.
Before it was like a cottage home
with labeled signs upon the doors,
Now it is like a one-hour motel
hustled and employed by whores.
With all the comings, and goings
practically absurd to try and keep track,
My thoughts would love nothing more
than to live in a one-room shack.
I can remember every detail
the “good-ole’-days” when I was young,
but ask me if I paid the electric bill
you would think I had no tongue.
As simple as looking for your keys,
you now enter another room,
Take that thought, tie it to a log
and just send it down the flume.
I can not rely on my memory
remembering anything, is beyond me,
So much so, I have created a term for
It is now called my “bad remembery”
© 2018 Joseph Emerson @ WhatsInsideAMadmansHat.com