in the stars, my brain
when I was burned and broken

An Anthology of Desires or "drunk on the impossible past.”

Text Rain

Remembrance, like Rembrandt - is dark but festive.

The monarchy of my nympholepsy has lead me here, staring at the last photograph I have of her and wondering if I should delete it. Might as well, being that she has infected my memory just like the others. Each girl was not a wounded bird I couldn't help loving, but actually vultures that devoured the feeling and understanding of Trust from within me.

Your letters got sadder. Your lovers betrayed you. Kid, I wrote back, all lovers betray. It didn’t help. You said you had a crying bench and it was by a bridge and the bridge was over the river and you sat on the crying bench every night and wept for the lovers who had hurt and forgotten you.



Coincidence is a pimp and a cardsharper in ordinary fiction but a marvelous artist in the patterns of facts recollected by a non-ordinary memorist.


 text rain 
comments powered by Disqus