A cascade failure of memories
wiped away by drugs
struggles toward a surface stain
of calculated depth.
Flickering images
like tongues of flame
shimmer through a train car of strangers…
ignited and extinguished
in the same breath…
I feel their warm glow
long after they are nothing
but smoke and ash.
Cold rain sparkle
pricks me awake
as I stumble through the mist
into another dreaming space
of bright chill and a remembering of self.
Memories are dreams
of a time that no longer exists.
We were all dead years ago
and my struggling ghost
is nothing so rare or sacred
as that fumbling child faggot
who plateaued
in the momentary recognition
of shared desire.
Written by Jason Wright
February 13, 2018