Diamond Days

Can you still remember
the diamond days
that didn't begin
with a scream
and end
with an empty bottle

When lust was not
the lullaby that drove you
when wine was a treat
and not a teat
and love was not
a weakness

When the monsters
stayed hidden
under your bed
instead of sitting
sly and smiling
next to you
on a train or in a bar

When the fires that warmed you
were fueled by friends
and ghost stories
instead of burning bridges
or burning buildings
whose ghosts will
never find peace

Did those diamond days
even ever exist at all
or is memory just a
fallible mirage
a blooming garden of
broken glass dreams
with enough shine to reflect
the past you want to see
but not sharp enough
to bring it to its impatient
inevitable end

Memory Is a Poison Ghost

Memory is a poison ghost
a lingering hunger
a dinner for one
served on a bed of broken glass

Its presentation is flawless
but you will chew through
your own tongue
to rid yourself of the taste