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Literature Text
Remember that day we sat in the open field? No? Well I must have been alone, thinking of you. I remember your presence there. The field went on for miles and miles, becoming a blur of brown, sienna, yellow ochre. When I stared at it for too long, I lost my balance in the waving grasses. I had to find the tree to right myself again. One lone stubby tree in a million miles of dreaming field.
I remember the light coming from the left somewhere, because it struck the tree in a most magnificent manner. Its shadow stretched long and thin, finally fading into blurry little fingers. I don’t know the brand of tree it was, it was unfamiliar to me. Short, stubby, gnarly trunked, with large bushy leaves over little pods. Well actually, the pods and everything else must have been bigger than I remember. I was a very long way from the tree.
The sky was malevolent blue that day, with long rust-and- grey clouds sweeping sideways across it. A thin strip of pink on the horizon gave the lower clouds a soft pink underglow. Everything seemed to be moving sideways, to the right. Clouds, grasses, shadows; slowly, faster, slowly again. I don’t remember any wind. The clouds parted for a moment, and there was the earth with its moon, right in place. I heard a voice call from a very long distance. I got up and began walking towards it. Only in my memory, you were walking with me.
I remember the light coming from the left somewhere, because it struck the tree in a most magnificent manner. Its shadow stretched long and thin, finally fading into blurry little fingers. I don’t know the brand of tree it was, it was unfamiliar to me. Short, stubby, gnarly trunked, with large bushy leaves over little pods. Well actually, the pods and everything else must have been bigger than I remember. I was a very long way from the tree.
The sky was malevolent blue that day, with long rust-and- grey clouds sweeping sideways across it. A thin strip of pink on the horizon gave the lower clouds a soft pink underglow. Everything seemed to be moving sideways, to the right. Clouds, grasses, shadows; slowly, faster, slowly again. I don’t remember any wind. The clouds parted for a moment, and there was the earth with its moon, right in place. I heard a voice call from a very long distance. I got up and began walking towards it. Only in my memory, you were walking with me.
Literature
polaroid memory
is that what happened to you?
fitful night terror
curled up with the dregs
in the shallows of a porcelain teacup
don't be mad at him
he didn't know about the sun that shone rainbows
or Sunday morning pancakes
the crystal and the dream catcher
tuck me into your bed of false teeth
swaddle me in that threadbare security blanket
this is the eighteenth second chance
but who's keeping count?
Literature
reminiscence
someday we won't remember this
no one will, not the dirt or stars,
not the dust scattered when a sun
dies and the universe swallows its birth
not the men who wasted lives
proving theories long debunked or
the whores leaning in doorways to fuck
soldiers who won't come home
and no one will remember the dog
hit on route sixty-three, the first guts
i saw glistening in summer heat
just as no one remembers i was the kid
they called to crack open the fire hydrant
because no one else could and they
shrieked, soaked in water no one remembers,
soaked in water that could have saved lives,
water circling into the sewer,
waste no one
rememb
Literature
handfuls of memories
your eyes are the gray of the clouds
when they cover the sun after a storm;
your words washing up on the skyline
of my towering city at night, a message
in a bottle only to be read by me.
ignoring gravity, i've recklessly
spilled the secret lives of shadows
to a piece of paper just for you
and buried them with the ocean.
since that day i'm the hunted;
for they want to make buttons
out of my traitor bones.
i am standing on the edge of a mountain,
watching as my carrousel dreams float away.
they dissolve into smoke and are consumed
by the eyes of night. my paperweight
soul tears as each piece disappears.
misguided ghosts
is what they are, tr
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Is this the memory of an imagined or true reality, and if the latter were you there? Or was that just a dream pretending? It seems such images pop up more and more regularly lately, am I loosing the line between?
Nice imagery Ron.
Nice imagery Ron.