February 2012
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January 2012
49 posts
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TWO POEMS. JORGE LUIS BORGES.
I. The useless dawn finds me in a deserted streetcorner; I have outlived the night. Nights are proud waves: darkblue topheavy waves laden with all hues of deep spoil, laden with things unlikely and desirable. Nights have a habit of mysterious gifts and refusals, of things half given away, half witheld, of joys with a dark hemisphere. The surge, that night, left me the customary shreds and...
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an old loveletter
“we were young lovers in the grandest of the sense, all wrapped up in discovering what made our clocks tick and what the shelves of our mind kept tightly held. rummuging through the books of ideas and loose papers of dreams that littered the floors and walls of our spacious cavities. we stopped every now and then to see how each other were doing, gazing in our respective eyes to make it...
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Mary.
i am sat in front of my Grandmothers grave, her presence held more in my hope that she is here with me, rather than an actual feeling that she is. it lingers like cigarette smoke in the humid air around me, escaping to the clouds after my imagination can’t find substance for it to stick to. i let my feet do the walking here, i tried not to guide. so i ended up here, with you, my abstract...
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