For the time I can no longer taste
A
chipped glass, the meaninglessness
of
numbers that frame
a
broken clock and a solitary ant
resting
on a grain of rice watch me as
I
take a sip of cold sake.
My
lips linger on the rim
of
the glass while the moon prepares
to
take the sun’s place.
The sky darkens…
…gradually…
The sky darkens…
…gradually…
(Time’s way of seeking attention.)
I can’t see my memories
I can’t see my memories
in
this dimly lit room,
though
I wonder if more light would
improve
my vision.
The
ant is now carrying a breadcrumb
and
I think of you,
your
fear of ants.
Memories are a trail of crumbs
that leads me to…
Nostalgia
A land of bygone days
where
everything has decayed, yet
mistaken
for freshness/
rejuvenation/
another chance.
I look down at my empty
glass,
and I hear your voice.
“You’re not supposed to
be here.
Neither am I.
But I’ll see you
tomorrow.
Should I bake bread or cookies?”
Should I bake bread or cookies?”