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Posts Tagged ‘Memory’

Her voice dots the peripheries
of my memory.
A tide of incoming jetsam
abandoned so the ship could
float.

Each delicate piece of Mahogany
furniture that washes up
leaves the salt water tailings
of excavated tears – a brine kiss
on the cheek of my mind.

A chair, an ottoman, a wardrobe
filled with falun red silk with off-white
trim – a dressed down exotic
not unlike the Prussian blue coastline
that forgives into a beach lined
jungle.

When accepting your apology
I was too weak to tell you
things would never be the same.
You are silent next to my sleeping body
and using our Scheele sheets
as a tent while you read.

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A Piece About Pieces

Some write
to honor
memories.
They write
from an
advantaged space
reclining
and reminiscing,
their eyes
descending
into the horizon.

I write
to form memories.
To order
the storm
but not to honor it.
I let things slip,
things I shouldn’t let slip.
But it is a need
and so I do it.

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You called –
another too little
too late
attempt
at reconciliation.
On the paper
it will always
be reconstruction
like history –
recollection
rather than collecting.
You placed the pen to my face
and took with it
my authentic emptiness –
it is called education.
I still don’t feel good about it.
These are the things that concern me
the moment you call – I am concerned with me.

Nonetheless, I answer.

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There was always room to play.
I remember it distinctively,
it was mid May
and the rocks flew from under my sneakers.
Now the image of a jungle gym
always makes these boats
sunken from age buoyant again.
I pass it in the park every day
the kids look like prisoners
and stare with their backlit eyes
while I make my way.
I make my way
as if it has never been made
as if it is not mere habit.
No memory will arise,
no image connected, to
make me remember this way,
just the echoing jungle gym
and the prospects of next May.

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The Gnow

The Gnow will escape you,
it always does.
It moves like a rumor
and can’t be caught
in a memory.
The Gnow has a stink
that makes you sick
but it gathers
fireflies to dance
around it.
You can give the Gnow
everything, and it will follow you
but if you forget to
flatter it, it will let you know.
It will take your “ness”
and leave you with a faint
recollection of an empty space.
A forgetting trapped in a memory.

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202… 203… 204
bright green
made separate
by light cracking through.
A silent shore
brings a breeze
and I watch one
fall.

A green ambassador
from a heaven
slightly out of reach.
Did I already count
this angel
or was he yet unknown?

I watch him hit the sand.
I bless him in his graceful fall
because now I must restart
the count, and in counting
return to art.

Where is my leaf savior?
To make these black
feet go away. To uncount
these stone words
and bless me with the ability
to experience again
the refreshing wind,
the green canopy,
the fallen ones.

It cannot save me
like that.
This poem remained
in my mind
despite trying to forget
and emerged
like a leaf
to flutter
to the ground.

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“I do not forget the ill affects of such mistakes
I merely let my brain filter out Aztec pitfalls and much
of the year spent with malaria. You see a life is not spent in history
it forsakes plain facts in favor of context and narrative.
The mind makes pilfering into excavation using
the same justification as a priest at an alter;
a still beating heart aloft in his hand. Call it profane
if you must but do not assume you do not do the same
when you lie to your children. At least my adventures are heroic
and their name will spread as fast as its mystery –
that is to say, at least I tell the world my lies.”                               

“I disagree with your premise kind Explorer. Man has no uniform
to put on or take off. History is neither fact nor narrative
but pedigree and convenience. Lies are only vicious when there is a truth
no matter how you justify. It is a pity that your genius
was so exaggerated. You may know much of nature but nothing of man.
I attribute much of your errors on the misfortune you had
being entrenched in ancient texts devoid of recent advancements.”

“You say such words with some authority which strikes me odd.
Don’t we share things with those ancients –
enough that they may guide us?
We’re nothing but clay – free to take shape, no two the same
but still clay.
Dissimilarities can be found among all things
only by first assuming they are common in some way.
Take the pyramids for instance in both Egypt and South America…”

“Do not try to assert yourself as an expert on people because you have
examined the affect they’ve had. Have you explored the brain
have you number the electrons, followed the neurons, and surveyed
the remains of a man long dead. Have you divined how to detect
the quantity and quality of man? Then do not tell me how to weigh
genus, species, and family because they are nothing but convention –
words that would cease to exist if we did so also.”
  

 

“Well if you think such of words
then we cannot have this discussion. Toward what end
would we continue to pontificate if tomorrow
if we all died and took our words with us.
Such an absurd thoughts brings only sorrow
to anyone with children. What cause would bring
you to this hell? That you would sooner remove
the power of your tongue then admit
to something beyond you – whether the thread of history
the endless grace, timeless nature, or the promise of words?
Why do you even speak? Why offer such grief to those
of us who respect words enough to use them with responsibility
rather than selfish charity – giving away only that which
you wouldn’t keep in your own home.”

“It is my duty, as it is with all mankind,
to seek the true shape of things.
Then to emerge with it in hand to send to all too weak of mind
to discover the same.
Call it the burden to knock down the wall. Doing
so ensures that our progression from apes was not for nothing.
We have emerged to tare the heavens down and finally unveil
reality for what it is –
a sham the scale of which astounds me
even as I prepare for bed each night. For even in the midst
of my deepest mind the universe still tricks me into thinking
that something is out there.
That my bed is soft, that my wife is happy,
that my children enjoyed that bedtime story.
Such experience doesn’t belong to me no matter
how many times I recall them. 
Despite my longing for them to be true. 
Memories are just useful fictions to
allow for sleep at night.”                             

“Then why do my memories frighten you
and my refusal to forget them? Why do you
care if I fabricate some details for the sake
of a good story – if all are untrue?”                            

“Because I care for you, dear explorer.
We are all in this despair together
and what would we be if we didn’t lend
a hand to those less fortunate than us.
Besides I can’t have you spreading such lies
around impressionable children. Heaven forbid
my own children would fall for such a line. I would
further discuss this matter, but we’re out of time.
Perhaps we can continue this later over prime rib and some wine
I know this secluded place down by the docks
perfect for such discussions.
Perhaps I could catch you coming in from another adventure.
Until then, dear explorer, do not forget what I have told you today,
it might serve you well.” 

 

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