The Ordinary is Extraordinary

When I hear the Tracks of my Tears
it still moves me,
Like I know Mowtown more than YOU know Mowtown,
like Smokey knows and I know,
it permeates my being like a first kiss
that goes nowhere but remains always.
It stills stirs me like I am in the darkened theater
with the smell of popcorn and my preteen giddiness at my first R movie, and my brother,
long since dead, sits ten rows behind me,
pulling from it his own take of this moment.
I too am fighting
my own private Vietnam
and wonder what in life is a foreshadowing
that we almost missed.
I don’t know how I feel about remakes of originals
songs, books, cars
I want that slice of time to occupy that precise space, every space, to stick forever
in my hippocampus for the whole of the moment
to stay exactly as it was

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