Imagination mixed with memory is this toxic tonic to stir up all our soured moments
fingering through photos
and soon I forget what came first, the memory or the sentimentality
dog-eared pictures proving I was here and I am there
both in and out of our universe
between the love and the hate of not being loved.
You get that? I don’t.
Insanity is repeating the same mistakes,
but here we go
rolling down hill like Jack and Jill
after reading their own nursery rhyme;
“Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water.”
“Oooh, I like the sound of this,” Jill said, tucking her crown into the crook of Jack’s arm as
And I can’t let you go, though, you let me go years ago.
Your memory is stronger than me.
Still, imagination is brilliant; I know, cause I make it.
A nightcap of sentimentality;
a tea made with the leaves of the leavings you left
to seep as rain water through the fall leaves
through the gutters of my mind.