Recalibration

What contains our memories will fail- But let's hope brackish sweetness is in each pail. When poured back to the source of creation... Let's hope it's only an exhumation. Recalibration, levitation… What contains a woman's moonlit breast? Is what contents my hazy eyes holy rest? Whenever I can contain my misty breath. I look at her melting into death. It's then that I feel at my most empty—bereft. What contains a young child's foolish dreams? What secretly leads me to my extremes? Feeling so lonely, I look deeper. Into despair and glimpsed the reaper... The martyr of all my blues, like a happy fakir.