mmmmdcxl

Snapshot of a Conjured Scene

watching the cigarette-lit buses
exiting back bay station was a
lot of real stuff for me, but there
comes a time when things that

surely happened, when the distance,
from here in my gut right now
along the vector that goes back
in time some 30 years is so wobbly

that i know the routine: it
begins to blur out in gaps of
longer distances that i’ve
furrowed into my forehead,

a permanently-terrained top
ographical map. but today
i’ve managed a quick sketch

punched into the keyboard

of a laptop on its last legs.
until all i can conjure as the
after-image repeats itself
are the pacific coast of your

ice cream eyes, and me,
hunkered down over on
the other side of some
sort of table, which i think

is made of ice, in the
frozen back bay breeze
of my imaginostalgia-nation,
a scene that now has happened

but never did (yet weren’t there
consequences that still resonate, 

emanate from it?). after banging 

the event into reality i’ve clicked

the filter faded dreams. so that,

whatever the case, this is all
i now have left of it. and
i offer it to you, today’s

odd screening, more a still life, 

this latest piece projected
onto the silverfish-colored
celluloid that is the back of 

my eyelids, for a brief moment,
that has since faded, like
always, and would be as lost

as the dreams that throb with

clarity upon awakening that i 

fail to record immediately 
into the small, leather-bound
diary that sits bedside like a

lover or an old friend –
so that within fifteen
minutes to perhaps an
hour the dream vanishes,

wiped from memory’s existence. 

but this one is no figment now.

because i’ve spent a few 

minutes banging it into

history. i present it now
to you, my muse of the 

moment. i mean i see
you, i hear you. we exist

within this snapshot

that might live forever,

for always.  and yet,

that our paths never 

once crossed in boston
is the one bit of reality 

upon which I shall 

remain certain.