Hanging Out With Your Past Selves

a suspension of sorts,

buoying in a sky of a haphazard daydream,
elated by the sunlight coming in through a window
stained with broken glass and bits of fabric.
hanging out with your past selves,
the ones who are encouraging you 

to clamber out of the window
into memory. you swerve against the grain

end up in recent percolations of things 

that have half happened,
things you've half felt, 

things you haven't fully embraced 

but you want to,
you sure as hell want to.
intrigued by your own memory, 

fact or fiction?
it is the way you perceived it…  

the way you interperatated things,
but you stop and reel on the fact 

of how authentic
is the gray matter atop your head, 

the same mishapened orb
that controls the waves of notice 

that are coursing through your body map.
when you tumble forward into current day, 

closer to the possibilities of nightmares,
your mind still sizzling 

with the opportunity of an experience you're craving.