Oh my memory palace was steadfast and staunch,

Now it glitches and hiccups and is veiled in fog,

And my hands are ghosts as my legs are unassembled,

Something pure as a baby hacking on city smog, in old London,

My organs are turned to old cans, old cans trembled.

 

My skull can act as a sensory deprivation tank,

A jellyfish suspended in cerebral fluid, in place of a brain,

I like to draw lavender and I draw a blank,

When remembering nights can be a sinewy strain.

 

I walked past a bookshop at night,

I walked past a bookshop at night,

My memory palace dark to light,

I walked past a bookshop at night.

 

 

 

2 thoughts on “Part 2: Memory Palace, a poem.

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