(20 minute poetry)

Memory in motion,
look back on your life as if it's a chain store promotion and the coffin on offer is yours.

Buy done and dusted before you are busted and broke,
there are mirrors and you are the smoke.

So we drift and we lift our eyes only to see that the offer on offer is not the offer for me.

I am worn out which is borne out by the sell before date,
you will have to excuse me
I may be a bit late, but don't start the ball rolling without me.

I am ocean, self promotion, premonition and offer the offer of more motion to come so don't write me out of the script.

Memory,
I can see is but the tripping out of switches and we are our own electrical contractors.

And yet I still have reservations about remembered dalliances and half moon destinations that I never reached.

It'll be sorted one day one way or another
and so why should it bother me so?