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Thursday, April 26, 2018

Cruel Memory

The past in all its permutations
The loss of word
Friends who should have been kept
Friends who were tossed away
Temporary loves
Long term loves
The never loved and wanted to love
The punches of regret
Things wanted to be forgotten return
Things wanted to be remembered disappear
Ripples of time that change memories
once truth become lies
then lies become truth
Cruel memory is a criminal
that murders what we think
and destroys what we are
from then on

Barry G. Wick

Sunday, April 22, 2018


Here is the myth
that doesn't believe in me
There are magic legends
that surround it in amazing colors
It is sometimes a feeble blue
on the edge of purple
I'm not orange enough
for it to accept my myths
that cling to my hands and feet
They clash like demons
at the edge of my driveway
that send a shower of sparks
alternating numbers from one to five
I keep repeating the legends
but never get to see the myth itself
I want it to be red
but that's me
I dance in my breech cloth
that is patterned
in orange and yellow
Jealous natives who dance
in their ghost suits
pat me on the shoulder
in expectation of some new legends
that create a different set of numbers
This is the essence of the myth
It can't accept me yet
This is what shames me

Barry G. Wick