blur

^{(photo is a still from my music video for Slip, by Chris J. Cunningham)}

what of

these reams of rememberings,

the years

on the wrong side of now.

a box that could swan dive

from the closet,

faded, illegible

confetti.

one by one,

the loves grow stale

as loaves of bread..

and the dance

that nostalgic nerves do,

ends.

too long gone.

tick tick,

i don’t know your voice.

you cannot say

it’s me

anymore.

all of the handwriting blurs.

it is a little bit like dying,

tipping the relics

into the trash.

seeing the crowns

for the paper they were.

there are real objects in the room,

the book lying on the chair,

the jar of the candle,

to make light of whatever

weight i gave these ghosts.

there is a hum

coming from the fridge

saying i am here,

and they are not.