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this fiction of mine laboured tightly in the skull of memories and mysteries worked to the wheel by furies who deal the willing thread in...

Friday, April 8, 2011

just before sixty -about 23:38- and clueless still


801 live...25 or 6 too...for one proceeds to separate all things
with the understanding that those episodes thought of as
terminated chain a chain faithless in the inevitable outcome
and here they come -everyone tells us about father time-
-when it tics when it tocs and there's someone who sounds
a gong one who rings a bell even a tuba blast is on the score
she asks about your frame and you answer without shame
-yes...and yes this and yes that...blast it all
we rant with or without objective references making 
exception with laboured ideas and feelings mirrored
with images extracted from past experience and perception
-let us say fiction pouring out as fact over dreams over

(margarita, play a song you blind tart...or is it magdalena)

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