at once, a world is deigned in
colour or some other life-like
artifice. with no need to find
fault in these motions, the
sky trails on, the clouds follow
in all and fragile suit. for
an instant all things are
composed.              
                all animacy
yields this wallpapered lounge;
the stacks of light, in sway.
and here, me, in
obsoletionary pose, in drought.
the entropic slow loss of
self-esteem, the ability to
retain memories, the light
burnt clean through these
papered walls.          
but i still brush my teeth,
still keep clean, still keep
hope bundled, tight, close:
a dream,      
     i'll never see.
a memory never        
             made reality.

common uncertainty, or
the unmaking of me.