hold_on raze your retreating hairline and harley davidson vest hide a heart the size of this whole city. your daughter twirls a found feather between her fingers and loves on it a little with eyes that are still new enough to spot the shine around the shit you scrape off your shoes. her parka is every colour smashed into one. you hold her hand to steer her from a street lined with landmines and other cruel concealments. you could shoot out all the lights and still find your way back to what matters most. just don't let go. 221013 ... ovenbird I find, suddenly, that we’re running out of time. Your mind is finding its way into disorganization. Your vision narrows. You still know me, but for how long? There will come a day when you can no longer see my face and your memory will no longer hold my name. And so I say “yes” to everything. Yes to evenings on the balcony, with summer still clinging to the railings. Yes to concerts that cost too much. Yes to dinners together and afternoons in the back yard, leaving the kids to fend for themselves while we remember what it was like to be young. Memory is not a gift we are guaranteed. It’s one thing to make memories and another thing to keep them. I write everything down. I record your voice. I find ways to hold you here so that when we can no longer reach you there will still be traces…everywhere. 250830 what's it to you? who go blather from