everytime i'd come back
to that knotted garage of things
long gone business cards & dusted cassettes
treasure to my hungry eyes
savored mountains of plastic
now i am confronted with it dark
you no longer around to ask
what this might be capable of
just dead metal and disparate parts
in some corner, long forgotten
a handpainted egg cup
and i am pulled into the years gone
decade suddenly stretched between me and ceramic
in another box: every card i ever wrote you
your penchant for objects no longer a mystery
for you knew better than us
the price of mortality
when the only thing left of your father
is an overworn watch
thank you for visiting k8's dream room, please call back later.