i have memories of my past
that spit and sputter yet do not last
i think of them but then again
carried off by a forgetful wind

some from when i was a child
others a short ride down the line
memories can be a fickle thing
in the form of remembering

dutifully they make their way
painted splotches, shades of gray
from a hardened brush i do not clean
dripping with these memories