When you pass through

When you pass through to the other side,

there is no other side though

memories of it infiltrate your dreams.

And who can tell memory from imagination

unless the harshest brand.

There’s the tree line, past that,

you could walk your life and still

the skirt of the galaxy would be far away

at night. The satellites that cross your sky and

Where red lights do not cause alarm

Even in the woods far away

Where you lost your dog

The still beleaguered prototype

The series that can never end

Despite the feeble star

The riot that began in innocence

Where monuments replace the memories

The horror maven waits inside the house

Where lost things go to rehearse return

While the ghost throws things around

Where the portrait in its cave

Speaks and no one hears

Having shammed it years long before

When the guest can’t sleep at night

And later on raccoons and skunk



Things essential flotsam now

Wild thing in the woods

Holding your breath for so long

Till the strictures of


Your only home

Each day’s revelation

Our hasty barricades

. . .

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