The Things You Hold Onto

Even though chemical exposure based amnesia

poached most of the memories classified “us” from your memory,

we  still IM

hours after reasonable people

have turned off the lights,

disconnected Netflix,

and sent their laptops to sleep.

I refuse to admit to anyone,

except the stranger who’ll receive this card,

that one of my “things” remains you.

Falsehood

(a postcard poem)

I find lost manuscript
and breathe deep, thankful breaths.
I finish watching The Laramie Project, twice through,
and find I like my televised horror
better against the bright day
than before I go to sleep at night.

That's an important life note.

Fact acquired from viewing
means memory real as my hands
could not have happened.
And the manuscript
which never seems to be done
takes another step backward.