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Sep 2016
My ears close up over themselves
Like heavily lidded fears and pots set to boil.
Memories, escapist messes from some forgotten Houdini, these.
You can close your eyes and watch the pictures dance by,
Portraits of thought that don’t cost a penny, just a moment of now.
Take a picture; these are free moments sorely given,
Give a second and develop the still dark.

Angels pouring air assure the empty pots they’re filled
While broken brothers decorate grocery bags with flimsy presence
And water-paint day stilled by frozen sky.
Broken, the world sinks into itself and backdrop rain
To become a solitary memory for only a cat seeking shelter.
It’s greyer than the weight of Atlas sculpted into myth.

I’m living like I’m already memory,
The gentle swell of sidewalk swallows empty
Pavement and houses and husky shadows.
The air is flavored abandoned and sweet,
And it rustles hair in the breeze like it tastes
Us too, and leaves its wet rain shower kisses.
I hang myself with lace, wrapping around my neck
Like a collar, heavy presence, weighted promise,
And it drips from me like the rain clings to lashes,
Cupping the cusp of morning dew left in
The darkness by fairer folk than us.
The Nameless
Written by
The Nameless  22/Other/I don't know where I am
(22/Other/I don't know where I am)   
   --- and Doug Potter
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