the school yard You rode it like a cloud The birds amongst the rafters They knew the song by heart They loved to hear your laughter They sang the house apart I heard of you from others But others loved you less I climbed inside your records I climbed inside your dress I'm seven steps behind you I'm gathering your breath I am the jar of echoes I am the silent death THE JOURNAL OF A DISAPPOINTED MAN (Words -- GA Johnson) I slip and slide through my life, trying to get a grip on the rail. I'm grasping in the dark for a switch that'll turn on some almighty bright white light and thus, illuminate the way, the path, make everything clear as day. And every breath I take seems to be quickly rolled up behind me and filed away in memory. Only a particular scent or dose of weather can pinprick the past and even then, the drawer opens flirtatiously for just a moment. I have lost touch with everyone I went to school with, everyone in the village where I spent most of my formulative years, everyone I went to college with, everyone I ever worked with. They too, are filed away, often angrily slamming the drawer behind them, over something I said or something I didn't say. My lovers cannot be traced. I know. I've tried. I've taken trains to their cities and stood on street corners in the miraculous off-chance that they might wander by.