I Remember - II

I remember heating
my dinner last night,
I remember eating and
I remember a bath.

The order
of those things
I do not
remember.

I remember talking
to --- through it all - offering
to kill ---
and the IRS
and the temptation
I fought
to catch the last
boat
to Seattle,
to buy a ticket
on the last
long
grey
dog
to the East.

I remember
all that
from last night -
the time-stamps
on my actions
in the electronic world;
where
I
am real;
say my last act
was around nine o'clock -
but I do not
remember
the order
any of it
happened in.

Before that?
I remember.

Not after though -
not
until I woke
late
thinking of you
as the rain dripped.

I remember.
I remember four words
that will not
set me free -
that I do not wish
to set me
free.

I remember
whispering
into the night -

then nothing.

_{(For A Friend :: 02-16-2010)}