so strange
it should seem
how vividly those lost moments
reappear to me.

they seep into my conscious stream
like the steam
beneath a ***
simmering on the
low heat of three.

I’ve never been much for
the romanticism of lost time
regardless of the frequency
at which it
captures my complacent mind,

but the silent movies
that wind
and unwind
behind closed eyes
are redefining
the circular lies
you seem to find comfort
in hiding behind
in order to maintain sanity
in the circling calamity
of present circumstance
and reoccurring coincidences.

I am victim
to the incident
that serves as
a lingering question mark
of the intent
behind the recently
protruding insolence that has been
festering since I
refused penance
on the slight chance

I’d find a savior in myself.

C.e.M. 8.19.14