Flee from me memory

Not even a mangy hyena returns to its own vomitis. The memory of that vibratory taste test on the tip of my tongue has me slip in to a memory of analog hood technology power testing of a found 8volt battery. Is that what power taste like: stomach acid and bile. I however return to what has long been drained of its fecal brown dolphin skin sheen. That ain’t Charlie or Martin. The Nosferatuan pallor of thermo molded linked linear hoarfrost and arsenic of laced layered juniper berry; white Lincoln Logs culled from the kids game, The Versailles and Lincoln. A memory that’s just all grasping; that has forgotten that time and resting gravity sub solar are the sun’s vampire queens. Flee from me memory and the embrace absent of light. Darkness til tragedy-agic doth slay the minds slight.

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