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Memory Bird 2

I gotta get so far past you the birds run out of breath.

I need to push you to the utmost of un-importances that the dust turns to dirt.

I toss filed forgotten newspaper clippings from stories told that are not here,

or there, or where

My heart resides today.

I toss them,

Yet, find them,

Hobbled in my chest when the trash goes to the curb.

What makes the memories stay,

What makes them, be,

Stuck on the wings of breathless pigeons masquerading as doves,

What makes, them, be

Free

In their flight through dusty olive groves of romantic storytellers.

What makes this teller of tales

Stay? 

What makes this memory, stay,

When all others 

Flitter away?

Go with him, memory bird.

Go with him, dust mites on papered tales.

Take your dirty newspaper shreds to build a musty nest and go so far past me

You run out of breath.