Dali

I bring an unfamiliar tea
to my lips and sit in silence.

I don’t know how
this mind deteriorated.

I remember feeling
a switch, almost,
flip inside cueing
credit to roll too early,
perhaps accidentally.

Since then,
everything began
to float around me.

What do I do now?
With thoughts hung like
upside down furniture,
afloat without direction;
with my soul in
pitiful condition.

Constantly, I am
confused at the state
I have adopted.

There are questions upon
questions upon questions
that I am not sure I will
come to resolve.

You bring an accustomed tea
to your lips, sat across from me
in my memory. Suddenly, I
remember. I am reminded
you were the prelude to it.

To the beginning of the end,
to right when I lost that stubborn
grip I had on reason, on sense.

Little by little, I remember
what I have long burned
from my memory.

Little by little, I am again
reminded how foolish
it is, how foolish I was,
to love anything at all
in the senseless ways
that I had loved you then.