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.
Nabokov

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.
Bukowski

Ipsicon

 


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.
V.N.

Notbitter

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