“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Showing posts with label ars oblivionalis. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ars oblivionalis. Show all posts
Thursday, February 4, 2016
Practice: ars oblivionalis (art of forgetfulness)
Don't forget
fingers wag
feature flicks
with you
in them
Don't forget
they ask
my name
return it wrong
as though
I forgot
all along
Don't forget
the warning
lost memories
are golden
Don't forget
about my
filtered words
trickle down
your neck
Don't forget
why
you're here
you chose
to remind
and return
the thought
I lost
but didn't
Re-remember
my name
the same.
Image of painting By Arkhip Kuindzhi (1842-1910), Moonlight Thinking (http://gallerix.ru/album/Quingy) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Ebb and Flow
The seagull shrieking in the near distance is the cry of my heart for the sea I so long to be near once again. The puffy slanted clouds ar...

-
We know more about people we've never known than ever before. Before now, you did not know who you did not know, and who you ...
-
When I wonder do we first think we Are welcome to the world? From the abyss of a watery womb we hear outside of Us w...
-
Today seems like a good day to burn a bridge or two. The sky resembles a backlit canopy with holes punched in it. In California...