Unfortunate; the clinging mist of unforgotten Yesterdays.
When will I dwell in a still circle of Today with unspoiled circumference; a moment not tempered by bone-written memory?
I could write You out; draw You from beneath my skin with flashing cursor prompt on a dark themed page,
But You replicate in virus infected cells - unwilling receptacles of Your widely imposed Personal Story.
I can move the frosted Mirrors of Your remembrance; put them beyond My sphere, turned away;
And find them faced about again on another Sun-rising, like Solar Eclipse sunflowers of sparse leaf and undeterred programming.
I could pull You out - both stalk and root, yet there is a beauty in the airless blood claret of Your many-petalled blooms.
And I, trained to look for Life in any decaying pile, am reluctant to lose this interrupting Presence of Your hex-coloured pixilation.
All Todays arrive as repeating blocks of basic text, amongst which Your imprint remains the greater Spectacle,
And I, motivated by instances of kaleidoscopic information,am yet to master staring at a monotoned wall.
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