Him

You're an old poetic joke
brought on by the glass taste of remembering.
So, I am 6 feet in the sky
and you tell me to stop swimming in your smile.
does my obsession comfort you
or am i already a discarded imagination?
He is a photo self-portrait
ripping, curling and yellowing with the dead leaves.
I wanted dark dead center of my light
so here you are
to force remembrance,
embrace me in my static adrenaline past
with bolts for my arms
so I can't move
when regret and memory come to gouge out my eyes.
Poke my heart again with your push pin
because me and my ink confessions
will be ashes by the blue sunrise
just dust tickling your sensitive nose
because I don't want you to forget.
Don't forget who you will become
when you are lamenting on who you were.
Don't let our past slip quietly into the fire
like the music that dies as the caravan moves on.
If we are the smoke tinted generation
let it be so.