The Persistence of Memory

We all hear the internal clock ticking, A self-contained Doomsday device, Melting like a candle in the desert heat Shaded by our consciousness, We try to ignore the Fun House mirrors That manipulate our memory. Our minds as flat as pancakes Are screaming for persistence And there's something that looks slightly like a deflated goose on the sand. Our memories are not real They happen to be past-tense fantasies Reality souped-up on steroids Hounding us like a dog we bargain with memory and give in to its demands By: Joseph DeMarco