LIFE ON MARS

Thinking back to when a flash and a blur were the same thing. In a closed box, worn on tape. The past is never, always, maybe, sometimes, surely; and in-between memories is a beautiful agency that not even you can control. I don't believe I'm looking for anything in particular, but what's found is even less confident than what my nightmares insist is absent. The ground is red, rocky and tastes like cake.