Saturday, October 3, 2015

Colander & condensation.

Blurring vision, veils of pitter patter, I turn inwards, envelopped in an armchair.

I stare at myself through pages turned.

I can not quite fathom the distance.

My vision is blurred by this present.

Any past of mine is already mist.

This is not a timeline. 

I am a mesh of memory, mood and marginalia.

Give me something solid to hang onto, goddam it.

All I see is condensation.

I draw out an ephemeral name.

Ensor, Condensor, Condensation...

That's it! I am bloody mist!

Goddam it, this is hardly reassuring.

A year stretches out through pages turned.

Is this a diary?

Are dates my coordinates?

I think not.

This is not a timeline.

It is a colander for the rain.


I am a new man. that is what it was all along.

That thing, that thing in the kitchen drawer.

I shall not die colander ignorant.

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