Nighttime and I retreat into the backstreets of my memories
emptying garbage bins hidden in filthy alleys, ridding them of their recollections that I wish could be recycled
Like residual waste they sit in a heap of rubbish
Piled high steaming regrets that often wash up through subconscious sewers into present thoughts
Befouled retrospections shimmering in the gutters of reflections that I wish could dry up but seeing as they don't I try to overflow them in hopes of diluting the dirt with with fresh mementos of blooming tokens, aided and abetted by time and contentment.
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