a flurry of thoughts passes through me
like a chilly winter morning on the coast,
the banks on the outer rim of the mind
are great for fishing this time of year,
or so I have been told once or twice.
before you I stand, instead of sitting
a man of my word I have become
listening to you complain every time
my headlights are turned on and
you are caught without a license.
each thought is a memory
each memory has a story
each story is painful
except the ones I forget to share.
in the dark my mind hangs like
a scarf around my neck that grows
tighter and tighter with age.
I fail to grasp the importance of the
nightly excursions into my past
where life is always recalled differently
and mornings arrive without sleep,
afternoon naps nurse my sanity
until another light bulb bursts.
December 28, 2024
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