On the Powerless

Sometimes,
When They talk about the irreplaceable exchange of fluids
And belief, They are right.
And I hate it.
But.
Sometimes.
They omit the second chances.
Some might call them Repetition, Repetition, Repetition…
Some might call them Redemption.
(It's alright cuz I love you, baby,
Though...)

I saw some old friends Sunday night.
We talked about the strangeness of
Measuring our memories in decades,
The links between music and road trips,
Synonyms and seminars,
Remembering parties that we should not have attended,
People we should not have kissed.
I’ll admit—
We also discussed the people we would kiss again.

We did not, however, mention several things.
Like. The way. We ended.
And how it was all my fault.
(It's alright cuz I love you, baby,
Though...)

I am thinking of these interactions because they seem to repeat themselves.
Finding myself in these Vonnegut moments...
These collections of people having the same conversations,
Doing the same things.
Each déjà vu shakes me
(Implies a corrective)
But then I check,
And here we are,
Again.
Leaning against these walls as if there were some way to stop this.
(It's alright cuz I love you, baby,
Though...)

You and I are repeating things
That-never-were.
Constructing an imaginary
That-always-will-be.
Singing faith into each other’s lives
Like breathing.