Stocking a Larder

I have a terrible long-term memory,
but an excellent short-term disco ball. 

Standing shoeless on Java, I forgot 
how beautiful the women of Brooklyn are.

All hips and having agendas,
like each street or saunter matters.

Every breath of art
is fashion for some reason. 

My attention span is all clouds,
and rubberneck double-takes. 

Taking it and them all in
for next year's new newness and air. 

No more pining and pretending,
just poetic romance and inspiration.

Add in a bunch of distraction,
and I am off to the Hinge races.