Mémoire

My whole life is a metaphor.
A cautionary comparison.
A series of SAT analogies.
This is to that as that is to this.
Like meets like. Same meets different.
Synonyms and antonyms.
So many unnecessary words.
Running on sentences with dangling participles.
The past tense, splitting
a perfect continuous infinitive.
This story tries to fix it, in concrete form.
To make it solid, set, in time.
Still, it can’t be. It cannot be.
Because it starts and ends, in media res,
but not literally,

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