Axis Of Meaning Poem by Louis Kasatkin

The years and their memories,
memories of the years
which we struggle to recall,
grasping at inconsequential ephemera,
a snapshot, a film, a record album;
transcendent icons ambered in time,
which we somehow put aside sometime ago,
long ago discarded them along with
sundry detritus of the conventional,
the ordinary everyday years erased
through inattention and indifference;
We dream now only the dreams of memory,
and we read only the fiction of the years
which we no longer struggle to recall,
nor have need to grasp their ephemeral presence;
we have consumed our own histories,
fed on our own gore, supped our own blood,
we can no longer recall nor care to
the years and their memories,
memories of the years
we lived.