There are no remains, just memories. Fickle haunts evoked by age and act. A thousand frames placed on display. Over lit and colored in, they are not real, they do not mean a thing.
I've other pills
to tramp on grief,
estrange pain,
and hatch the part of waking that
is dreams,
double one dose to un-depress
and to write less and less
-Sandra McPherson
