The Blue Chisel

Way north of the mind, is where you'll find them. A million shards of memories trapped deep inside the blue ice of a terminal disease, called time. Grab your flaccid chisel old boy. Try and rescue them if you must. Release their lonely orphan cries bore deep into their blue misty eyes... Until hope turns to pyrite dust. Bore in deep. Maybe taste a speck of sea salt-memory. What was her name? The one who made you crave her everything. The one who could knead a jester from a king. From a quarter century ago... with half a dozen other ghosts. She arrives cascading down the icy rut of winter's blush. Where you have no chance to ever make her cut.