For D.M., for unkowingly getting me back into poetry

There's a guy who's obsessed with memory
Like it's something he's trying to deny
Or I don't know because I don't know him
Only for words
Or the spaces between them
Killing thoughts in a graveyard
In a blackish sky

And I could paralyse this moment
With a hacksaw to the cerebellum
Or equally
I could let it run by

I'll take a hacksaw to the cerebellum
I remember
It's only some words he is thinking
It would be a charitable act to kill them for him
Let the blood run out of all those spaces
Leave him in his graveyard, wasted
But grateful
Like a forgotten hung hare