In the codex of memory
the foundation the basement floor
the contraband we carry
around in our heads
the empirical
raw material
and after all I'm a surveyor's son
trying to make sense of the same warped projections
reality redacted to our needs
a human artifice on physical space
and after all I'm a woman's son
trying to stay right in a world made for sons
a privileged recognition
to lift my feet from the dregs of all that's passed
there's never a second chance to do what should be done
there's never a second chance to do what should be done
