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memory clouds ( a beginning)

Memory Clouds

. . . the most benign symptom (Roland Barthes)

memory clouds, as the say, feed
on mountains, endless
hover that dwells, or dwelled
elsewhere, and yeah
behold a punctured
tyre, nightfeet across
swollen floorboards, each
perception divides itself into
earth and air.

In the theatre
of crashing streets there is:

a ladder of bird feathers

mock smoking
with broken

a face
in coal dust


W.B. Keckler said…
I like this.

It's rather Magrittish at the start.

At the end I think there is a novel that collapsed in on itself as it entered a blackhole.

That can be a good thing.

Cuz then you can look at the whole novel.

In a small space.

Das ist gut.
postpran said…
thanks :-) Like the idea of a collapsed novel. Yeah. Hm . . . the mysteries of the horizon indeed.


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