I remember the feel of places past
better than I do the sights.
I remember more azure skies
than I do those dark nights.
Of colored lights and germicide
my neurons take their cues;
bringing back a hospital scene,
or long forgotten shoes.
I have a madness of memory
for faults, but not for stars.
But I can't claim to remember
each time I crashed a car.
I know my memories are lies -
of omission and of fact.
And little can I make the claim
they're filed neatly in stacks.
