who was that in the shadows?

my memories
screw me out of peace
more often than not.
they bring me back to such odd times.

every morning reminds me
of childhood cocoa at night.
every night reminds me
of warm college beers in the morning,

but i never recall much of anything at noontime
and that’s likely for the best. it’s a merciless hour.
anything that comes up then could be immediately fatal,
unlike the slow toxins of dark and dawn,

and if i died in the light of day
i would be forgotten at once.
noontime creates
such small shadows.

no, give me the dark hour memories,
bastard children unwanted but accepted
strictly because they’re so obscure. waking memory
is so hard to endure

because there
is so little
shade there
to shelter in.