Empty blank dead fish-eyed just like the brain
Sitting up there in some swing
Moving back and forth with those gears churning
Rust against rust
So enraptured by the future and the undefined
the yesterdays and todays are left forgotten
the tomorrows a distant speck, not even
It’s far too much for the current pace of swinging
Back and forth, back and forth slowly steadily
Dead metal chipping away
From this ambitious forwardness—it still treks onward
Enclosed within a shell
Like a turtle who finds land to lay its eggs
Half which are dug up by human children on the beach, a quarter which are eaten after hatching
A quarter that might make it to sea.
Forget first
Then stop remembering in the first place
And keep swinging back and forth
So the world might be washed of color.
Lucy Zhang 