a better choice of
words perhaps but
now the mousetraps
baitless and mute
drifting in disco illusions
they are merely found
objects like seaweed
quivering in a collection
of sunday afternoons or
submissive obsessions
in a b/w documentary
and so you walk on
the search neverending
black vinyl boots
shiny and cruel
laughing gas and
pretty edibles and
you watch with
fascination as passwords
dissolve in an abstract
dance of comic strips
the walrus
the moon is sightseeing
and wanders into a field
of disillusioned tulips
you stay behind to keep
an eye on the walrus
come to sit on the edge
of your bed
says the walrus wetly
a gun the colour of soot
was found by a child
faraway somewhere
you are surprised
soot was added to the
list of ingredients
the walrus sobs quietly
silence 1
you listen to the echoes
of your silence
interrupted collections of
sounds you once occupied
(a train departs another arrives)
you trade yesterday's theatre
for today's performance
of silence its echoes
weaving in and out
of arrivals and departures
silence 2
the hour you shredded with
memories invented and not
litters an empty dream
laced with nylon darkness
forgotten silences offer no
respite and the wound on
your illusion is infected
and festering
you place your wounds in
circles that are never perfect
and you ask yourself why
you cannot ever make circles
that are perfect / why you
invented memories and
you wish you could remember
all the silences you have
forgotten
you yearn for a campfire
silence 3
and then a door opens
there are connections
here to motion pictures
bobbing on waves
toward mystical
negative spaces
time can be found here
and time can be lost here
in this foggy landscape
of raw and seductive misery
and you ask if this is
where the camels sleep
it's a mirage the dark and
heavy silence finally breaking
and wondering if you have
said too much wondering if
there was more you could
have said you close the door
leopard skins
in the morning there
is snow it came
in the middle of the
night
the snow
soundlessly in the
middle of the dark
night
the snow
descended on
the earth
you drink apple wine
and the memory of
nothing
exists in the murky
puddle of the
melted snow
then a thought arrives
a thought of leopard skins
clean was
the snow
that landed on your
path then
it melted and
the melted snow
turned murky
leopard skins
are not murky
imagine
imagine if you
will a landscape
filled with bleeding
voices unvisited
and
scattered here and
there
shifting spaces
the cruelty of
twisted reflections you
escaped only to
get trapped in a tangle
of regrets and longing
imagine if you
will a landscape
filled with pastel
strangers their
unpredictable
zigzagging chaos not
totally unwelcome
imagine if you
will
a landscape with
a single easy chair
(to sit in)
