The bones of my Jurassic past
Arch over into ribs.
They house a good-luck bear, a punk-haired rockstar, and brightly colored shoelaces.
Such things as what we remember of our childhood
We wish we could regain.
A broken-down house, the nettles in a book
As do the things we no longer know,
Only feel the once-vibrant presence of.
Regress! The years come too fast.
And throbbing, pulsing at the center of it all,
The beginning of a wind tunnel
Whose centrifugal force sucks
Nothing truly remembered
Survives the mortal world.