Filtration of Memory (from January)


Sometimes they drip in.
One letter at a time traveling into an empty basin of a mind,
when the sickly sweet has drained and a few cruds of pain still
cling to the metal. Sometimes it sings in sprays.


I’d choose coffee filters any day.
Fill them with paint,
introduce havoc to their vocabulary.


the way
the doors
learn to break.


It’s like we melted color to the wall
then scraped it off.
It’s like crayon scenes,
coloring book glimpses,
fragile, crumpled slide show notes.
Clear sheets with ink
for projectors
older now than we were.


Textual evidence involves citations.
I do not know how to prove the past’s existence.
What if everything only began now?


If anyone has topics or holidays I could work on for short strings of poems/micropoems for future poem fests, that’d be awesome. And if you happen to write or have written something on this or a similar theme, I’d love to read it!



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s