April 16, 2026Poem
He awoke
citymemoryidentity
He awoke
A shadow
Of himself
Veiled in darkness
Under a cloud
Of indeterminate origin
Lacking in grit and spit,
Less contained
Than yesterday.
His edges were blurred
His feelings peripheral
Life was slipping
Beyond his reach
Even his words were indistinct
His voice,
Best when silent.
He is background noise
Disappearing into the wall
Soon to be
A memory.
A ghost in the machinery
Of life
Which will grind on
Remorselessly
Barely registering
His absence.
The balance
Will be restored
Incrementally
Life will bloom
And die
It is the way of things
To turn
And turn
About.