Snapshots of a forgotten life
all that's left of the frayed scrap book
laying there just to haunt


and this aliveness of what we are now
(you haunt all my waking moments)
Is that good for you to be a haunter of my life
some kind of marvelous sun simultaneously
imploding/exploding inside of me

setting fire to all I know
(& me running around trying to put out flames
half halfheartedly)