Collage – John Tansey

I am a torn photo album of memories,

 Whose pictures, strewn out of order, 

And chronological date

Lay about the floor in a collage.
A serial killer of images.

I lie in a heap, 

Here, among the snapshots of the past, 

Where I exist the best.
Isolated moments of nostalgia

Are made mythic, perfect

Out of the rewritten past..

For what exists of the future is bleak, 

And existence in the present is bestial; 
For proof, look toward the night sky

as God exists, only, in the past

and its evidence is reflected

In the, biblically-old, 

no longer existing, light of the night stars. 

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