In this house the subject of you- a flytrap to my temples.
I wrote of boys in recent history and the intro posed, was,
Of you? Without discerning elements, who knew?
Intentional, if I know me... blotting out themes that refuse to rest.
The queue consists of high level interest, of that, you still must be.
Annoyed, really, that some part of you continues to T-Bone thoughts.
Even now, the will to edit, swells.
Clean breaks, they are delicious.
They provide a landing mat for resuscitated musings to lie still
To draw them back into dormancy so that true memory can form,
Inducting useless connections into the archive of 'then'.
Go quietly now, into the night, allow yourself to be led to this place
Where the life of your choosing splits sharply and with finality, a closed door;
Thus considering yourself as 'moved on'.
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