Uncle Bob's Words

Words, poetry, stuff like that

I’ve Got A Folder

There is in my mortal memory a folder labeled “1955-1957”.


In it are sketchy mempix and a narrative of sorts

That is heard as my voice. A PowerPoint from hell.

I can’t erase this bleak and despairing folder.


Yet, no one else living in this day remembers,

Only me.


So, the memories now are forgeries, really, little more.

The mempix and the narrative a fevered nightmare.

Little neurons zapping and rezapping, zap after zap.


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