Posted on 1 Comment


Only ghosts now in the place where we were alive on the cul-de-sac prairie at Archer and Emerald,
making out in your car while a trucker watched from his cab. Only the ghosts of weeds, wildflowers,

car trash, the trucker and us, even though I’m still living. Hard to remember where the shadows began
and the daylight ended. Or how I used to describe you: a raptor? a rock star? Maybe. You smelled like

a drawer full of dirty t-shirts. You needed to wash your hair more, stop eating cheeseburgers. Hard to
recall why I thought death was interesting, at least as interesting as the blow job I gave you at Johnny

Yen’s wedding at the Swedish Singing Club by the lake. Only ghosts now too, at the Swedish Singing
Club by the lake. There’s probably more I’ve forgotten. There will be more, now. Like how we met.

Living is remembering. Death is forgetting the prairie, the wedding, the blow job, you, the girl.

1 thought on “Anamnesis

  1. oh, such gorgeous ghosts!

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *