Tuesday, June 7, 2011


I will grieve for the protagonists
of a thousand thwarted stories
until the day I die myself.

It simply never occurred to me
that the light that kept me awake
when I should have been sleeping -

the light that kept me company
when I should not have been alone –
would begin to diminish.

On my knees, inside my skull,
I grope with both hands, but
I cannot find the things I've lost.

All I have discovered
is a layer of dust,
the insinuations of scars,

and that somehow,
something can be lost forever
inside of a noggin.

Once I lied about forgetting:
now the lies are all
I can remember.

I have even forgotten
what it was like
to know it all.

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