Archive
01/14/10
Scribbling Oblivion
For many more years Than I can even remember I've forgotten, I've dreamed of forgetting everything I never knew, As well as everything I'd never remember. But as the years have accumulated, like forest duff, In my imploding psyche's twin hemispheres, I haven't been able to remember That the other side of forgetting Is so flush with nothingness, so filled with emptiness, That the existence that is and the existence that was Neither remember nor forget their hoary origins — Ashes before ashes, dust before dust, Was before was, is before is. Indeed, the only thing left After flesh and bones have exited neverforeverland, For those timeless time warps of memorable forgetting, Is memory, memory of the future, The future which arrives at the speed of infinite dark, Trailing nebulae of distant cosmological improbabilities, Reminding whoever might receive its transmissions That life's tabula rasa is, at best, a reflectionless mirror And that consciousness is all a vast hoax Perpetrated by sorcerers, shamans, prophets, saviors, Intended to make us lowly beneficiaries of logic Believe that meaning and reason, forgetting and memory Are the touchstones of mortality, Not just steppingstones to the edge of Lethe's abyss.
This disorienting morning of my finite forever, I scribble oblivion, Across the damp, moldy walls of my catacumbal brain cave, And stare at the labyrinthine ladder my lines form, Which connects my spirit's basement with my soul's attic, Those two spaces — rain-soaked grave, casket — Where I store my time capsules, For the day when memory might decide to recite this poem... Stare, only to realize that there's nothing there, Not even these words, writ, like me, in disappearing blood.
01/14/10
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