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Present.

The present is all that exists
The candle does not rise as it burns
It collapses onto itself
The bird does not stop singing because, two weeks ago, it got its feelings hurt
It sings now because this morning is all that exists
History has brought us monuments, Mozart, and star-cross'd lovers
Which haunt and awe us today, but cease to exist in tact
They are just relics
Like an empty wine glass with lipstick stains
Or crumpled petals and flower remains
Like old movie tickets hidden in a drawer
Or a stolen sweater that smells like cologne
Yet the present is all that is real
That is tangible, that is whole
The heart beat, the hum of the fridge, mango hair spray
An itch in the neck, a twitch of the nose, a cat's meow
Is all of reality
Mundane and sublime
The aged fruit of old time
Rotten berries on the window sill will keep on rotting
Good old pals will continue being forgotten
The past should not be disturbed
The birds, the squirrels, the raccoons
Don't meddle in the past; they will to survive
Where is our instinctual drive?
To not eat rotten apples, or drive broken cars
To torture ourselves by pouring acid on our scars
The sun does not decide to ditch us for a day
For the present is all that exists
If it did not,
Everything would collapse on itself


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