‘eleven eleven’ follows me in all my devices.
Is it vice or virtue I have forgotten?
Is it you?
Will you follow me to the grave
saying ‘remember remember’
my brain is your ephemeral slave –
what is it I forget?
This constant stirring of embers…
How can fragile time everlast?
A blood-red poppy binds
remembrance of things past.
I think one day I will burst
and the eleven ghosts that nest
in the frailty of my head’s haven
will be set free…