Why did I ever meet your graceful memory?
This decade shouldn't shake me as it does,
With pain of dionysian cages,
In your honor.
The gravity lines have shifted,
In genius of moment,
With no regrets or shrouds.
When Sunday exists in July
the terminal images and lamp posts melt,
Their foundations are blurred.
You fill the physical void like a poison
Rampaging from a cup
Across lips of complete abandon from death's option.
I am free for myself
And new contacts
Within cavernous dreams
And the bellowings of this age,
This once and only claim:
That I remember you.
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