Tuesday, 15 May 2018



they are gone now
and i cannot remember them.
how they fitted together so well,
and how i spoke through them.
i never said goodbye, or tartar. 
each extraction was brutal,
a last love-bite and they were gone.

and my curly hair, in sepia;
i can no longer feel the coiled springs,
or the henna of the sunlight.
now in the twilight of my life
i cannot remember them.

every toe nail and finger nail that
i had grown up with and without,
where are they now?
composted where i point; over there.
gone their sublime scratching of the itch
of a flaky skin. i cannot remember.

that exfoliating epithelial rejuvenation,
the snow falling from the buds.
scratched note fading from the hands of time.
i cannot tell if the wardrobe dust is mine,
or yours. so how can i remember.

the red blood cells and their ruddy recycling.
the zillions of gametes that will never meet.
the bone swimming in a mineral sea.
the tears that have flowed.
with the peristalsis to the drain,
its microbiome in full reign.
all gone from my memory.

as the moisture on my breath
condescends to fade,
so do my memories sublimate,
until nothing of substance can be left.
so who am i now?
what is left me now?
an everlasting brush that had
numerous new handles and heads?
now upon the pyre of goodbye. 

however much you drink of the past,
you will piss it away in time.
regard the reflection of your mind,
always one step out-of-step
with the neural ion flux,
that the eons have prescribed.

chip away at the temporal pole and
the tent of thought will collapse upon you;
as your fly-sheet soul in fleeing flies
refusing the evening’s last goodbyes.

i do not recognise the memories,

still ...

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