moments exist between the lines that we speak
tonight it is the place where i find myself
pointing out the obvious is fruitless
and placing blame brings no resolution
so i sit in the wind and wait for rain
wait for something to wash away this grime
knowing that family is not something
one gets out of, not cleanly at least
it is the plague of genealogy
the fascination of one looking for roots
our roots may be common but they bear
very different fruits indifferent to taste
so is my taste to change?
how does one tell one's heart to change in taste?