“will you come with me?”
and she would say “yes”
just that
and I would know

but I am Diogenes
with my flickering, failing light
looking for what cannot be found
lost, forsaken, abandoned, bereft

I imagine
clinically
scientifically
empirically
objectively
we are who we are
by the rough edges
that signal not only intent
but identity
integrity
solidity
uniqueness
singularity

and by accident or masochistic subconscious intent
I’ve shorn the sharp protrusions clean-off
scraped off any of the cruft that would tell the world what I am
who I am
and the answers are lost
down that memory hole that is time
as irrevocable as if it were spaghettified
by a supermassive black hole

nameless
faceless
silent
drifting
come unstuck
untethered
into the vacuum
punctuated only by the cold ancient light of a billion stars come too late to make a difference

I’ve only myself to tell me what i’m worth
and if I believed anything I said
I’d be truly worthless
and it’s only in dreams
that I am reminded of what I am
or at least what I could be

(The branches are shorn off
amputated
and cauterized
and time waits for no man
even quantum indecision decoheres)

I don’t remember the last time I dreamt
of joy and happiness
even my dreams are filled with sadness and despair
loss
grief
stillness
silence