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 sepia tones
and pallid skin now cold, bereft.
The oldest of loves now warm
my bones.