Lando Flakes

I felt the child die inside of me.
The one who poured himself 
a bowl of maple syrup – just syrup. 
When dots of white light dashed off the amber 
he saw a galaxy of gooey galleries 
shifting as the bowl tilted. 
Bold eyes tied to the fallacy that 
his stomach was just as big. 

Mother caught me pouring it down the drain. 
A twenty-bill wasted. Lost. 
Lost to the sight he saw, 
to his memories, alone. 
Consider it admittance. 
No shame in his heart. 

Things are meant to be forgotten. 
The sight of early dusk in winter, cold and blue. 
The shadows of tree husks cast by moonlight, 
stretched and wanning. 
The part time wind in the heat of traffic, 
windows lowered to the music of horns under the sun’s stomach. 

Tears in corner of eyes, 
does it tear us apart to see, or, 
are we still young? 

Lethe drowns everything. 
Dead memories float to the collective unconscious, 
they shed the shell their soul would slowly leave, 
they were meant to be recalled, 
never lost, only forgotten. 

What strength should be spent 
holding on so tight, trying to 
remember, trying to preserve. 

For forgetting is 
the mother of wandering.

I paint the space
between as the damp and
heavy breath of everything.
My voice often lost among the
pitter-patter of others sieving themselves
up through the earth. 

Just like you, I was once afraid
to be just another drop in the Ocean. 
My purpose was 
broke and my resolve 
evaporated quicker than it 
flowed. 

As it was with me, it will be
with you. We become cold and hard, 
coloured by blankness. We had once 
rushed through everything, yet, 
now we were frozen in place, a block 
in our own way, nothing seemed to 
stick from the slick of our self-hatred. 

But time will slowly melt us away, 
our edges smoothed and glancing homeward, 
clear reflections on former selves. 

Until you sink, watch the wind, the world 
set its stage, the humid smell, 
the waiting... 

From the deep you will rise, 
gather yourself and witness your role, 
it was through us the earth spoke: 

“It has welled up long enough, now it must pour out.”