Change Your Mind

Can you change your mind?

My mind's a hoarder's house,
the general waste bit of the dump,
land revealed when the flood recedes,
carefully planted ideas sprout up
like bulbs, bloom, brown, die away,
so fast without you.

Peopled by forgotten faces sailing past
echoes long after tongues were stilled,
the evolving swamp of my perception,
you and me over-printed by encounters,
we're Russian dolls, selves inside selves,
yet once we used to fit so tight.

Can you - please?

My mind's now a search engine
focused on you, searing, your name
brings up your freezing hands
that day you gave me your gloves,
you redoing all my lopdiddy tiles, mouth
framing long months you don't take
my calls: here's what I did to you
buried on page four.