Poetry

dwindles

so slowly
regressively they go
the dwining and the dwindling

instantaneous
no longer
there is a pause
longer and longer
before retrieving
a name an action a creation

the neurons and dendrites
they hobble they trip and almost fall
suspended until
they finally clutch a will-o-wisp of an idea
in desperation and relief

the nows and tomorrows
are replaced
tossed away by
the distant yesterdays
the simpler pasts

looking forward matters no longer
when the cataract of old memories
inundates

going to seed is so much easier
oblivion is such a comfort

ah
time to change my Exelon patch//

renato
saturday 22 november 2014