Page 9 - Bite-size
P. 9
I say, “Reptile brain, your function
Is defunct: I want to kill you!”
It says, “Get me extreme unction—
Any sort of snake oil will do.”
With time’s door ajar,
I’ve met without cheer
Some truths from afar
And others too near.
Of the sand castle we built
Yesterday nothing remains
But a tide-washed shore of silt
And interchangeable grains.
By now we should have sensed:
Despite being fortified,
Memory is up against
Entropy’s erosive tide.
.
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