your dreams
so that they might fit into their graves
Hypnotise
the sound that rings in your ear
‘not good enough’
it whispers like the hiss
of a snake from the fist of a
rake its a crisp cut from the
wake till the memories take its the lisp
from the sharp edge of a wish like
a scalpel that slices the bounce from your step
as you lose the words on your list
of nostalgia
when I lose sounds from the words that were yours
I lose your face still I only have the letters of your name
only a message an email and a fading face
book that is stretching your life far into death so that I
must scroll down years to find out when you had breath
so I paint your presence around me
and make-believe you are there
be there. be there. be there.