My memories were located in a box
Just to the right of my dreams, nightmares
Playing out like half-improvised scripts in my head.
The memories were polite, always, just resting patiently in their places
Until you looked for them and they escaped out that hole in the bottom,
The ones the rats chewed last summer.
My brain is a well-mapped city.
My brain is half-destroyed.
The box of my dreams could never hold them all, so they littered
Waking hours with their eyes.
I expected it from them, but not memory, my polite and pleasant fellows,
My childhood friends. Loyalty is a short-lived ideal.
The boxes fell into each other.
I’m forgetting why I gave them different parcels of the brain in the first place.