When i speak of memory, i speak of;
i aim and shoot
an arrow
into the oblivion (vast
dimensions of space of
the time)
                I draw
it towards that still ocean; tea pot
of age old, rotting cold, forgotten/forgetting flow.

It is the reminiscence
of the struggle
of man against power, is the struggle
of memory against
                   And you see this ritual
is actually a perpetual
struggle of defiance.

As of defiance
as you may listen
        slowly grows in pestilence.

Thus rotten
as it were some fungus grown on breads of silence
or maybe memories unspoken in
 of fallacies, fiction
and lost relevance:
unbaked dough in oven
resisting heat.
                      Statutory Warning: Contagious Defiance!