At night we dream to clean our memory,
discard trash from our cache.
Reincarnating after death would be the same;
the past, scraped by death’s emery,
unknown in the new game,
cleansed of our memories, but with a stash
of added skills…
and karma’s unpaid bills.
*****
No, I don’t believe in reincarnation. I don’t believe in anything, or in nothing; I’m an absolute agnostic. “I think therefore I am” is as far as you can go with any certainty – even “who or what I am” is ultimately unknown.
‘Clearing the Cache’ was published in Bewildering Stories. Thanks, Don Webb (if you exist, of course…)
“Glitch 183” by mikrosopht [deleted] is licensed under CC BY 2.0.
Form in Formless Times 
Ah but you believe in rhythm and pattern and form. I’m betting you find them somewhere in your next life. They found you in this one.
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That’s a kind thought, thank you! I can live with that.
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