Strange to think small dreams morph,

spark dotted pathways on and on.

Still blemished weights of coherence

lie, carve to memory those that last.

 

Shed for absurdity and more,

the tears I cry know no line

or minutes fair, deliberate time.

The best of thoughts live in the past.

 

Witnesses can tut and tsssk,

queue to sign my page for free.

Shout out loud that they've been there,

long, long before the table turned

that once I laid, now lies bare.

 

A jailbreak kick downstairs to chase

flattened light, dull family tones.

And pallid skin now cold, bereft.

The most liquid of loves now warm

my bones.