Sunday, February 21, 2010

The logs on the shelves

The logs on the shelves of my mind, do what they please,
They flip through themselves, moving backwards in time,
Shuffling, bleeding together, they mingle,
I see the breaking light, between the slotted captions at high speeds.

Replaying nights at play, and filthy plays at night, they wonder,
I remember her eyes, our smiles and what it would take to have her,
But the logs are but fragments of memory, from a scene viewed upside down.
Filtered through notion-ed senses, my minds eye will see what it can.
-what its offered-

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