(Inspired by Sim's a walk through her museum)

Our minds as spaces
made external, compartmentalized,
you wandered,
I stumbled into that secret place.
Strange columns and tombstones
lined the walkway
A museum of the grosteque and fantastical.

Clean. Sanitized.
For visitors
Hidden,
the dark howling wind and unmarked graves
of things prematurely buried
without names, without dates
on display, in glass cases
documents, exhibits seemingly unchanged with age.

yet,
Standing on different sides
they mutate
squabbles over what they in fact are,
Visions without ownership
Are they yours or mine?
We try to put up partitions
clean lines defining their space, their time
but they blend, merge become communal

Are you a relic or a ghost?
we ask in unison
our voices an echo, a harmony,
a chaos, a repetition.
What exhibition is this?
A performance. A dance.
An illusion.
The lights seemed to change,
they moved. Silence.

If these objects once had life
what are they now?
Transformed into memories
or a meatphor lying in irony
to the state called existence?
preserved in unnatural state
divorced from their reality
they call themselves and viewers into question.

I reach out to touch them,
Cold. Hard. Invisible
Glass--divides me from them.
Sudden . Seconds. They transform
they mock me.
They--of stardust and dream stuff
I--of atoms and bloodstreams.
we are one. NO.
we are not one.
As I wandered amongst them,
they wander in me.
Dancing on my fingertips,
they bring a familiar tune to the piano keys,
long forgotten.

EVerything is in flux--I forget where I am
they, forget what they are.

All of a sudden, this museum is organic,
it breathes, it bleeds
it becomes a forest--wild, untamed.
Magic.
I awake in an attic
cluttered with memories
coated with dust
ordinary and safe.
Locked away--with only semblance of the
ordinary ordinarily life.
Of mundane existence
Tax forms, bills, result slips, bus tickets, chain emails, advertisements, all of todays' news papers, receipts, ballpoint pens, pencil lead, eraser shavings, cut hair, plastic wrappers, drink bottles, coke cans, tissue boxes, scraps of gift wrapper, time tables, graph paper
Still and unalive
they point mute and blind
to the dreamlike lives of the memory
and the mind.