Riding

The past isn't supposed to matter too much. So I've been told and read.

Be present.

Mindless, I mean mindful.

Seems, though, that it hobo rides the rails. Past mingles with present mingles with future in cocktail-party fashion.

A face becomes more than a face. A joke, a cosmic dig.

I'm riding then spinning. Hurtling, then hurling. Fast forward memory.

Forward and for word.