There's a funny sort
of fuzzy feeling that
occurs, spontaneously,
halfway between a 
memory and a dream.


An odd, shimmering,
misty feeling,
impossible to name
or quantify. 


It defies gravity,
yet at the same time
it holds you to
the Earth's slippery
surface.


This is the home
of so many moments
in time, that slip
and whisper sinuously
past one another
in this vague 
dream-state.


So many fragments of
a shifting world
lurking and twisting,
half forgotten,
halfway between a memory
and a dream.

I Know

I know the dark.
I know sadness.
I know tears, pain, melancholy.
I know these things,
intimately,
like a lover whose
every contour I could
trace with my eyes closed.
I know these things intimately,
it's true, and I know
I am stronger.


Too strong, in fact, to
dwell in the darkened 
recesses of that confused inferno.
Too strong to yield,
and let it consume me,
as I once did-


But no more.


I know the dark, sadness,
tears, pain, melancholy.
I know these things.
And they are not as strong
as me.