flashback

and then you’re in his house,
improbable memory superimposed.
Teeth-white plates and
Cheshire windows
shine through
your million eyelids.

A hundred things
teem from the open door
a thousand minutes
with unholy instances
in their infinite.

Cut with a china tooth
drink the red sluice
because it washes that taste
from your tongue, and
jolt/twitch/convulse/cry

till you remember where you are

and repeat after me:

I am mine.
I am mine.
I am mine.

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3 thoughts on “flashback

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