J.C. Tribble, III Poems

A wild animal runs through the halls.
Smashing cans against the wall.
Warmth of innocence flows by hands insane.
Lost but not forgotten, with strength regained.
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A Brain Teaser:
I believe...everything we ever thought, seen, heard, or otherwise experienced is locked in our brains. I suggest that there is no such thing as long-term / short-term memory, but varying degrees of burn-in. Just like a LCD TV if you leave a Flatscreen on with a static image long enough the image burns into the screen itself and leaves a sort of a memory image. Those of us from the Eighties are familiar with this happening on Pac-Man and Centipede screens at the arcades [actually CRTs].
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Hiakus are not poems,
Hiakus are not poems,
Hiakus are not poems,
I've died a thou-sand times to be BORN some-where else.
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