A Tribute Two Lost Poems

The best poems  are forgotten  before they´ve  been written.     I                             II                                I crawled out of bed  with the memory  of two vague  masterpieces  lost in the untraceable steps  of a dream´s footprints  Between the snap of a finger  of a drunken morning  (seperated)  and Triskels Tavern.     Fragments of sweat-stained air  guitar strings, notebooks  and prose-like voices  choking every last person  as it bled and squeezed  through every swirling nook.        Now as the sun rises  I reach for you, frantically  somewhere within an arms length  of my out-stretched hands  in the abstract illusion  driving me forward.     But, I fall back  into a dirty pillow  with a throat full of cotton,  a headache, resigned pain  and the epitaph of two lost poems  that made me think about you.