Memory's a hidden thing in sublimation,
Energy flowing upon a chemical medium,
We harness it to receive our vision;

Did I spy? Eidetic
childhood took me by surprise!
While the world is all but a dying light:

"Knock the world right off its feet
and straight onto its head, book of love,
Will long be laughing after you are dead,
Fascinated by the look of you and what was said."

We can remember so vividly
yet as easily doubt our recall,
I guess all's fair in subjectivity
with its many mendacious tendencies;
I maintain there's more to memory
than this most lachrymose ending
(after which I'll say no more),
For surely we can doubt
just about anything because
*thought is exempt from being.