even courtesy :: John Boucher

remember me not like this but dangling

not awake but suspended erased

perfumed with stopped time

a rot-soft scepter in the hands of a dead king

removed and repurposed ash

i could have been i once was and now

now is a period of time i do not know mothballed forever

saxophone filled with dirt playing at rest

where did i go when i went nowhere

countdown a dog paw a space first

cut me said the film which is the memory of the thing experienced

twiddled thumbs a hobby a note followed by another note

a fellowship a reward a box of burned bone dust in a closet

rise up

i want to but i can’t