intrepiddestroyers

THE HORIZON OF MEMORY

Consider the

on average

seventeen hundred friends you have made

twenty one hundred books you have read

fifty eight holidays you have taken

thousand times as many films you have watched

millions of recorded cells so crowd your brain

you learn to write

if only to keep track of these lists.

As children the

elusive sense of self is sucked

into every mirror, replaced

with fabricated memories

biographical accounts of someone else

wound with threads of

our own history

so of course we write things down

repeat them

to know where we are at in time

our place

silhouettes outlined against a stark

and bare wall

fading after the flash bulb's pop.

Whether through an imaginary history or

memories of the future our

minds travel, our bodies trapped

in the present but unable to lose

the past,

snip the cellular connection,

so when we remember

everything flows like floods

rapids rivers trickles,

brains shrink

memories fold

and our blood is fouled.

Forget the future, he mumbles

through stiff lips

standing still is a slow death

unable to make decisions

the outlook is bleak

released in a silent unseen collapse.