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devour glut & gormandize something flavorless & grey
the ocelots have been franchised & now serve a
variety of lukewarm blueberry muffins at every train station just
locate painted cardboard & dig through it until you find the
collection of films I left you
along with all sorts of unintelligible dogeared notes
the hotel clerk organizes hundreds of
mints deep into the night endlessly
creating and decreating
tell the dust motes in the corner a crone’s wise sayings
it is 90 degrees out in january but
still the jackets remain frigid & ooze moisture
a wong kar-wai washcloth someone in the kitchen
is making stuffing in dim light as candles lactate tallow
climbing petunias grasp the wall
short-lived perennial tarantulas twisted
over each other in blooms remember some
finer things in life dark chocolate comforters filled with
feathers the smell of sage after a spring rain &
even more flippant feelings and sensations
another easter passes discounted bunny plushies
line pharmacy aisles little marshmallow chicks
would not last long outside amid the wilderness
blown away by monsoon getting old & stale until finally a fox feasts
crunch
maybe it’s best never to cross the tupperware edge
remain in light near the closet stuffed with flannel that goes un-worn
daily injections insulin or other & a weekly habit of perusing
muscular bodies in a corporate gym face blank
one lone cloud in the sky is dwarfed
by the others towering in the distance
wandering unbounded alleyways smell of mushroom
or mildewy wood carpet &
curtains all of a sudden the image of a bearded man
in a sauna cautiously tonguing wet soft cheese
crumbling pallets the ancient memory of smithing & brickmaking
smoking loose cigarettes from a plastic bag very french
look we all have our own psychoactive preferences mine are
listed on a series of bookmarks kept in various coat pockets
or other disorganized storage systems
damaged desks folders shelves bins
everything is mortal in a way cloth legumes
et al the cream has soured & still we mix it into the pot dotted with herbs
at least some endings have been foreshadowed
a beaming flash flitting through trees & tumbling downwards
head first head light diffused sinking to the bottom of the river
engine as anchor
more diced shallots grown in distant soil low clay low silt sprinkle them into hot butter
some granulated salt some pepper & lemon juice
let’s move onwards & not be married to the darker images
nobody knows what will happen maybe my father shoots a
muskrat with an air rifle as a young boy it’s only sensible to let
the maelstrom pass not much to be done about it
or at least that’s what everyone says
oy gevalt
after the rains seeds outside germinate
beans tomatoes squashes & more consider the gerbil
a hedgehog’s soft soliloquy
in the salt marshes the smell of
battered oysters & lemon linger like an oil slick
and the sunset is beautiful all pink & orange
& gentle on the senses like the smell of leather or well textured buttons
it’s well fleshed out this singular memento
nestled in a wooden burgundy-stained box
such a small piece does so well at holding memories
of cobblestone roads between
leaning walls from atop of which mothers chastise
hidden or invisible children
someone else’s memories not mine seen
through this relic as window as memento
the smell of tea brewing the feeling of crisp collars & chafed necks unforgotten
Twitter: @neo_cubist
Bluesky: @trve-evie.bsky.social
