My skull is peppered
With worthless facts
Of man’s finest deeds
Flak guns and tribulation

I meander blissfully
Through timeless galleries
The offerings of the mad
Those confined, to desperation

I weave with content
Through streets of cobble-stone
Before Victorian giants
In their age of gilded refuge

My wholeness expands
As I free-fall
Into the grasp of former years

Thumbing through memories
I do not own
The life and times
Of bygone strangers

A pastime
I dare not disclose
For a flurry of minced words
Drive many to retreat