Not even close to a last gasp

Notes of freesia and melon

popped up today,

a bit sickly sweet just like 1994

when the sun made few impressions

mixed with smoking meat and jungle drums,

I rushed through mentally

while my legs caught up eventually.

Years flickered by like the dancing fish

at the hands of a fisherman

in a flip book I once saw,

a few surprises but mostly

an inevitable ruin

that comes each time

I open my eyes now.

Blink. Boom.

Blink. Crackle.

Blink. Gasp.