On Fabric and Life (And the Fabric of Life)

I think of it –
suddenly and irrevocably –
as I stand in the laundromat
feeding quarters into the
square machine’s hard coldness,
the fall of each coin
truncated by a short metallic splash,
then silence.

It washes over me then –
that I should never again
hold a quarter in quite this same manner,
never again hear this exact same
clink of cool metal coins,
never again breathe this exact same air,
never again feel
this exact same

Life slips away
as I stand, watching my clothes flash by,
a spin-cycle of manufactured memories
of waiting for life to finally begin.
Waiting in line, falling asleep, driving in cars –
small, meaningless moments
that add up to an eternity,
weaving themselves into the very fabric
that is me.

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