Tag Archives: #memory


By the constellating
All branded
In my crystal cabeza,
This soul case
So riddled with
Mnelactites and
Cracked watercolors
Of us here, and now
Us there then, too –
God it is troublesome
To forget you
Without drenching
My thoughts in snake
Oils sourced from
Underneath the earth,
Taken from Leviathan
Lying open
In wait.
I collect myselves
And shake out of
My pillar of salt:
Motherfucker I
Will look back
When I want to


Standing –
Looking around – inside
Of some withering memory
Can prove
Parts and wholes all mixed and mangled,
Branches where limbs once swung,
Boiling solids,
(Were furniture)
Dim in the living room;
Red as blood because it is blood
((Not real
Brain blood))
Close friends and strange people twining,
Combining, but all wrong.
And finally
It’s gone


i will try to remember your face
but it’ll be sand on the surface
of the water, and i’ll rely on
dreams to get your smile right
but time will send rain
and then the paint runs.
one day the boutique will
stop carrying your perfume
and the eumelanin of your hair
will pale like a sunfaded photograph
and our relatives will begin
to die around us, still i will
try to remember your face
but it will come to me as pixels
or a monet painting viewed too close
and i will fail to quote you
correctly anymore, and finally,
i’ll start forgetting your name

the interruptions

you are trying to read a book
outside, but a mosquito nips
your ankle

(the world could be harsher:
a thousand different conditions
could be worse)

you will your attention back
to the words, whatever “will”
and “attention” are boggles you

(glass could shatter more easily,
or honey might expire, or some
apex predator may hunt you)

your book is beginning to make
sense again, and its narrative
influences your total memory

(maybe wasps are fatally venomous
in the harsher world, maybe people
are just less cooperative)

your favorite character is falling
in love in this particular chapter –
to her demise, you suspect

(it could have happened that in
this world, your father’s immune
system was too weak)

you are trying to read a book
outside, but a beetle hums near
your ear and you startle

(the world could be a harsher
place, but it sustains you in a
cradle of correct conditions)

your character is trying to read
a book outside, but her “lover” plans
the murder like an apex predator

(maybe your favorite character never
got to feel love before she died –
like a sad mosquito lacking memory)

you close your book and wonder
if “love” without the narrative that
memory provides is just instinct, a nip

(the world could be a harsher place,
but it is apparently just difficult


How long have I chewed herbs,
Trying to forget you?

What was once a music inside me
Is now only my heartbeat

Your face ripples –
A reflection on the Lethe

The arpeggio of your laughter
Looped like a wormhole in my memory

How many suns did I reject
After dreaming of you?

What was once a heartbeat inside me
Is now only a muscle contracting

Your face is an amalgam
Of other portraits now

The decrescendo of your sigh
Cut in half like an earthworm in my memory

How many moons will I pocket
Trying to white you out?


warm brain

tracing the subliminal
power lines trace my memory
a fearsome power
electricity cold as fear

beneath the liminal
the iceberg groans beneath me
my thoughts a hot iceberg
hot compared to your touch

tracing the memoricon
memories diffuse into dream
like coffee into dream milk
we drank coffee in dusklight

subliminal rave
a memory is like a raven
swathed in dream-like shadow
and the memory of a raven: a shadow


Out curls

Serpentine smoke

Into a Byzantine midnight


I can’t read these heiroglyphs

I carved for myself on the walls

Of my memory

My fingers pass along the grooves in the stone

But unread and unknown,

I keep a secret from myself


My memory holds a door with no handle,

A box with no locks,

A moldy book with wilting pages

And an hourglass with one grain of sand inside

For telling the present moment


Since my memory can’t photograph

It paints with watercolor

On a canvas of sand. I can make out

Serpentine smoke curling into a Byzantine lung


I can’t read these Arabic numerals.

These envelopes have dried my sandy tongue.

I can’t focus

At this oxygen bar, too many Cheshire cats smiling

At this hookah lounge

At the bottom of the dark, green wine bottle

Of my memory


My memory curls out

Like serpentine smoke

Into a Byzantine midnight