I know the past is not immutable, but
I’ve been messing with Grant Green’s time
In my mind for so long I can’t help but feel
Somewhat responsible
When the world of record changes what we
Saw and heard
From what we remembered,
Which never existed, officially,
Instead the details were changed, slowly and subtly,
As if we are the ones who can explain
This sudden breach of protocol
Or call ourselves the mad ones
With damaged recall, who flirt with
Insanity because we can’t help
But believe in what’s inside.
Does it matter that such things no longer exist
And the only record will die with us?
How different is that from the way they say it is,
That infinite nothingness takes the universe
To nonexistence eventually?
There is something malfeasant
In all we see and hear;
The slightest twitch could bring the whole thing down.
