the unknowable transforming point 376/ 380

433 little poems
fictive autobiographical gazing
through the piano looking glass

Transylvanian passion

It was a little more difficult to disentangle
the mood aroused between these two old friends travelling through landscapes
as they were happening people like them
as they said goodbye to everything
specially that pair of hands
not a night to remember though
as lilliana’s otto was to enter the green room
just as
in transylvanian passion pursed his lips
wrinkled every part of his face
in a querulous attempt to examine his sense of consciousness
the rest of the night is best left to the analysis
of the red wine sipping psychologist’s sense of irresponsibility
when dealing with acupressure of the cerebral catastrophe
and box set of wagner’s ring cycle
with subtext and instant messaging by then

Hot audience

Lilliana was untouched
and back to the practise timetable
and unavailable for comment
as she had to prepare the piano parts
for several trios at once for an outdoor festival
in the setting of a stately house on the firth of forth
by next wednesday
with canapes and champagne on the lawn weather permitting
just look at all these windows and clicking photographers
historically posed apostrophes and period costume
tea and scones of enormous proportions
with mountains of white fat layers of red sticky jam curd
ten types of tea extravaganza
ficfuc where does it all end
the soirees
the indiscriminate torture of hot audience breath and snoring cashmere
ronika panic
got to get out
just waiting till the end of the next mazurka
and off to the sanctuary of quiet corridor coughs
selling more box sets and etc
can you hear me

Pocket lighter

It needs to be said
slow glide of fast car
hovering and lastly largely succeeding in its way
to catch the attention of sylph like lighting a cigarette
with pocket lighter objet trouve
on her way to public transportation
would that be the end of
her imaginary friend lindy was infallible right
don’t go there shell #
its’ all about to go pear shape tits up

Palm ache

Schumann toccata
your hand to a pulp
palm ache
in a white room with black curtains
there’s an smt stewarton bus
waiting lights on for fallen angel
next please

This is what you do

Rewind splice re-edit
defenseless retro mechanisms sharp shoot
refresh memorable intimacies remember
or it will all come out at the wrong time
retrospective discoveries
underpin pantonal pin yourself together
the hairdo falling into place falling
instep surround by architectural plans for the future
this is what you do
and nothing but the truth of it finally found



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