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
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