cinema of evanescence

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daily, i am terrified by the thought of dwindling knowledge

being so far from the source

claims that stories would hold as much as their bearer

or that a burning lamp can only grow dimmer

it is both time & distance i fear

each time i call, i worry

no one would answer or be there

for my curve balls

eventually, the stories will fade

as the mother grows old, & the room with primed walls will fall

into disuse. there will be no one left except me

i am the lamp’s bearer

the non-coffee drinker who routinely drinks Nescafe

for the memories. i am the fool

who pays double