one leaf at a time, the trees are stripped bare. one memory at a time, my memory is being picked clean. soon, i will stand in the forest. bare and empty. deadwood of dreams. i will remember nothing. sometimes, i wake up singing in french, sometimes speaking in german. sometimes i wake up laughing in japanese. soon i will sleep underneath the ice, in the silent forest.
its thirty three degrees and i have all the windows open, trying to get the stench of stale smoke out of the house. every cigarette smoked with regret. not fearing cancer, but the killing of time each cigarette represents, willfully represents. we choose what we choose to win and we choose what we choose to lose. selecticide. the light that once lived inside me is sleeping. waiting for a better offer. another spring to be unsprung.
and the angels wait for the bell jar to be unrung. as mechanical hybrid bees drift among the smokestack trees, unstung. under the whitest of bleached bone skies, i sleep. and still the memories seep. the light pours out of me. i remember everything. unplugged birds unsing. unstrung, the winter has begun to congeal and seal me underneath the ice. and all i can do is think "that's nice".