Uncle Bob's Words

Words, poetry, stuff like that

Archive for the month “November, 2017”

(no title)

Everything in me once social

Is compressed into a tight little brick

That only warms infrequently

By memories served up

From my default mode network.

I savor the old movie (seemingly

Shot from just over the refrigerator).

Two now dead, three still living.

Vertical, breathing, warm.

Remembering.

Post Navigation