Fantasy childhood memory.
Distorted truth rambling
and incoherent – fake.
In an old place
that’s not an old place,
there’s a door
that leads to another space.
Three young guys, one’s a girl
work in front of large monitors –
white hot computer hacks.
My flat is trashed,
and they are analyzing my things.
I remember the whole thing
subconsciously, so it’s never real –
just a fragment at the site
of a memory.
A dog whistle that’s unbearable.
A blank filled with pills and poetry.
August 19, 2017
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