© 2008 - 2017


-

Archiv

Blogger news

Blogger templates

 

+

Umblättern

Kategorien

 

Wernicke-Korsakoff syndrome

Do you still remember
when we were little
and we were playing in the dark
and you asked me what happens when we die?

I said you forget everything

-everything.
"Even you?", you asked.
"Yes, even me."
You did not want to die. Never forget.

The remains of what we used to have
were taken away with the softest squeeze.

How did I forget?

How-


Since the last morning of mine I gave you


















Οι ωραίες παλιότερές μου μέρες

δε θα'ρθουν να με ξαναδούν;
Τουλάχιστο ας μου στείλουν τα χαιρέτια τους
που αργοπεθαίνω από τη θλίψη.

(Hikmet)

Ardor et glaudium


I flow inside you
as your own blood.

Yielding back to this authentic state of stand
as I reminisce,
kermes edges of the fingers
they almost glow
over the phosphatide eolienne.

A body ebbs,
down the stairs of my house
now getting tart as the floor.

Terrene nights
squashing the same sheet;
crackling constellations,
I did promise that I'd capture Canis Minor
for you.

As loyal
as abiding,
then quench its hunger
with my cortex.

As static
as gentle,
I will blear till it's all arid
and washed out.