every atom
blasted apart
reconstituted
in an instant
random fragments
of memory surface
then spin out of sight
permanence and solidarity
laughable
dissolving
everything tissue thin
friable

a curve of green
stems
in a brown
jar

I've never recalled dreams he said
although it isn't true
re creating history
is what he likes to do
it some how makes him feel good
as he would rather be
the man who has a perfect brain
no need for him to see
i wonder why he does that
i really couldn't say
should i just ignore it
and go my separate way

are you
******?
when you write
your poems
he asked
as if they were
nothing
more than
that

a vain and
troubled
man
in search of
disguise
he wears his
eccentricity
like a cloak

nothing
prepares you
for
the ****** decrepitude of old age
an obscenity of
plastic bags for *****
plastic bags for *****
fear of losing
your teeth down a drain
egg white and crackers are all you keep down
grumbling old hags in the coffin queue
waiting for the shroud

hung in black cobwebs
wrapping the ceilings
hot water cylinder
rusted to usless
old nickle plated
green tarnished teaspoons
food scraps that lurk
on ancient linolium
a sprouting of mushrooms
under the cooker
bin bags all spilling
jumble sale clothing
death a relief
only imagined