The Anatomy Of Melancholy

Reflections in the liquefactious layer of your eyes are something like a salty convex mirror of unshed tears...



My memories are sometimes like a short horse ride on a rough horse through thick bramble.
Nostrils distended, ears pinned back, sweat in a lather on the neck, the horse neighing and rearing up on its hind legs...

Tis a strange ride...


The space between, physical and temporal and emotional, provides no final answer, just a hollowness of silent echoes.


There are some things I don't even try to remember and wonder if someday I should,
or if all really is for nothing then why not remember nothing.

Then Nothing will reciprocate.... ..Nothing will mediate. Absolutely Nothing.

Where do those abandoned memories go, anyway?
They just lurk there below the surface to haunt and taunt....

I have been looking for questions instead of answers.
All the answers are the same as they have always been.
If all we believe is death then all we do is die.

The rest is vanity, and what does it profit? What shall it, O Prophet??