I remember the futurenIt was nothing quite like it is right nownI was stuck in the the past-tensenWriting my historynPausing as a person defined by nownnI remember the futurenIt was held together by strengthnSimply a mock-up, merely a puppetnThat could talk to my fear or whimnnI was told not to sleep but rather to re-thinknMy position nWhy does purpose always point to conquest?nMotions always at restnAnd when movingnEverything turns liquidnnA temporary sicknessnnI can make matters from ashesnI can sour the spoilsnBiting on the skin from my own lipnAnd slowly recoilnI will slowly recoilnnI was writing the prefacenTo the purpose of a future that will never existnGroveling on all foursnCompelled to be preempted by a time I depict