i am much younger than i am my hair is dark and thick instead of pruned bald i am lean and meek feeling hollow as if weightless
we are at an airport with no memory of getting there
i had left my hotel room urgently in a jacket that is not mine
i can't find my Swedish wife whom i miss like a panicked child and my Asian wife whom i've never never met before and know all to well is angry and could care less if i got lost forever
i am going home to my parents house i remember that they are dead but we had just spoken there will be soup and Hors d'oeuvre's
they wait for me
on my way the streets and boulevards are unfamiliar yet old hat and no matter how long i walk i can never find their house located somewhere in Brooklyn on Haze street in San Francisco
i have a business and retain no idea of what i do
i left my cloths somewhere and i don't know why in a locality i cant remember for a reason that doesn't exist
a beautiful woman smiles offers me *** she is friends with a girlfriend whom i'm committed too but do not know and never met i want to cheat with her but guilty kisses will ruin everything so i turn away murdering desire in an already anchor-less miasma
i remember a past my life a continuum of disjointed vagaries tears well up
i fear myself a figment a bodiless revenant stranded in a fog sparkles and smoke incandescence and shrouds a dis-junctured soul that clutches memories like braids of dust living in the eye of nothing a labyrinth of shades lighted by the sun of cognizance a wretched phantom transparent husk living a dark fiction my grave a womb
i am the dead living
Irish Ditty.. One fine day, middle of the night, two dead men got up to fight. Back to back they faced each other, drew their swords and shot each other.