memorys he
liked how it looked
of
things long gone
quiet silhouettesshadows
drifting on wet mist lazy ash blown siftingdiffuse like flour fine sand intimate conversations
yet his HOWL at him dog him wont
let him blink or pause for fear he may forget may not remember
they wellup out of the distant
past hurtleup out of deep chasmstunnels humming vibrating poignant remembrances that will not escape
him
they haunt him some
say which he was okay
withokay with the scattered bags the lopsided freight figures who tried to
frighten him but could not
they formedup statically pictures cells snapshots his
lifefor some reason composed to effect them
dutch elms on either side of the
street that grew together above it forming cathedral ceilings
smell of leaves burning in street
gutters which incentivised him as a boy to rake lawns clean the smell of fresh
cut grass the smell of fresh snowfall
his boyhood home painted gray
heavy screens to hang for the summer heavy storm windows to hang for the
winter
the girl next door
the other girls
rabid nights in Miami
quiet nights in Montana
ranch work hunting fishing
he could pickout individual days from among them crystalclear magnified clarity but when
relating what he remembered to people who he shared moments with they had
no recollection
sometimes he doubt himself
his mother would set him straight
I don’t know
why, but you remember things since before you were two . . always have been some
concern to your father and I . but you remember correctly; you should not doubt
yourself.
Perhaps your long memory is a gift, my son; or a curse.
gift curse
gift
when he dreamed he didnt distinguish
between a dream or a nightmare
apparently he was a
hoarder
1018, Reggae Friday, 1 10. 21
1122, Saturday,
2 10. 21
Who Can You See the Real Me https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6y1c3xllo8c
Lulileela Dive https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RaNiHfXCp8A
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