It’s not in the detail,
the detail was lost long ago,
it’s not where are my glasses?
or what time is it?
it’s who am I?
the whole, the entirety,
the big picture,
the past,
has gone.

The light that shone is extinguished,
the voice of right and wisdom,
that sounded deep inside since the dawn of time,
is silent,
not a whisper remains,
drifted away on the comet tail
of forgotten memories.

The shell functions,
as a shell,
on auto-pilot,
motor-neurons have purpose
and work still to do,
unknown work,
unremembered purpose,
the visual cortex is blank,
as is the stare,
a smile curls at the lips edge:
the visitor is the person in the picture
on the bedside cabinet,
yes! that’s who it is…
…who is?

Echoes of dream fragments stutter into
and falter and fail
and tail off into…
…who did you say you were?

The mirror is blank,
no light enters here,
no shadows are cast,
no one,
no thing,
no sound,
no thought,
that can be formed into words enters here,
the void,
and if yesterday,
or today could be remembered,
then lungs would fill with air,
and lips would open wide
and a booming voice would scream
and scream
and scream
and scream
who am I?
who are you, dear?

it’s so dark in here
it’s so quiet in here
almost as if…
…as if…
…what was I saying, dear?




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