The vague memory you have before actually
Having the memory, it needs access to identity
But not even yours: just identity, brutal
Mnemonics and/or a few flat desires

For instance, your parents travel so far to sit in
Melancholy patience, to witness the continent
Devouring Western works, to be near those
Regretting their poverty over generations
And not just years: so you may ask, why seek

Others at all? Are they really here for your
Distraction, like trees whose names you do not
Need to know, just that they are pines, visible
Against your tiredness and the rain that keeps

Punishing a need to travel for such supposedly
Unforgettable views: on silence, bright ruins
And that finery able and willing to stabilize us
With memories birthed from lightning in the soil

While here, a story: a small grey cat enters the
Chassis of a parked Fiat and will not emerge
Cops are called and animal control, an old man
Wearing all beige watches carefully, he will
Be talking about this scene over his Sunday
Soup for weeks: that the cat was lured out
After two hours, the one good thing anyone
Has literally ever seen the police do

You recall this on the night bus from Farringdon
Or was it in the middle of a field of mud, that
Solitude of ravens staring from barbed wire
By the hospital ship: well, we cannot speak

Properly until we are out of the city and seen
For there is no such thing as an anniversary
Undocumented and even on your birthday you
Make more mistakes than usual: offend those
Who gave you birth, schedule packages
To be delivered when you are out of town
Get crazy glue all over the computer, forget

When the city got so quiet and when your
Ears began to feel so plugged up, refuse to
Understand forgetting is no mistake at all


One thought on “QUIET CITY

  1. Reblogged this on LETHATECHNIQUE and commented:
    Understand forgetting is no mistake at all.


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