Memoria

I call upon my mind's tunnels
for a recollection of time long
ago mined. I find myself engulfed
by the story, told by me and then
also by someone else. This is not 
an adventure to choose; it's
a cave with some passages damp
and others dry. I wander, breathing must
and soot, coughing softly, gentle 
underfoot. Should I be here,
down in the dark? Wandering
across the halls, walls stark?
It's not that I'm there, I'm here
in me. These caves are inside
exacting a fee. The canaries are dead
but there is no escape. Noxiously
fuming, a latter day faint. I've slept
it off but it nasally lingers: these 
memories of my unspeakable
fingers. For what I typed or 
didn't say, this past will 
never go away. Was it long or 
yesterday? Time sneaks up and
shouts my name. Aware acceptance
is the meditative prescription;
write it out my preferred 
conniption. These fragments gather
to bang down the door, opened wide
my memory lore.