I would be a blank slate,
stripped of memory,
(stripped of you)
my thoughts wiped clean
with
a little discernment.
Rid of recollection,
no need to fear
the sticks and stones
that break my bones
break my heart
break my mind;
remembrances that polarize
and become identity
all too soon
(not soon enough)
Perhaps I'll cast my lot with
sinners
or selflessly side with angels.
More likely I'll put a posey in my
pocket,
clench a clover in my fist,
and hope for the best.
So take me to the river of forgetting.
Build the bonfire high.
Tonight I'll cast remembrance
to the flames,
to the flames,
and after mark my face