étude #12

indulged in solace
for all the missed opportunities
to pry into the moment
when your reality slips
between the fingers.

you’re standing on your knees

(a platitude)

and delving with the tin spoon
in the pile
of dust and the glass shatters.

a sand clock.

that sand clock
that you squeezed too hard
in the delirium,
was measuring the time
until you’ll love.


my Mnemosyne

my Mnemosyne*, once busy now unemployed.

the cinnamon bourbon you drink
and the greasy remote you are holding
in your tremulous hands.

you’re calling it “friend”,
because it always takes you to the lavish voyage
between the cooking shows,
debates and severed heads on the fields.

my Mnemosyne, do you remember the names of your daughters,
that were conceived on this shabby couch,
you’re sitting
and sipping gunk from the bottle?

your daughters, your Muses
once used to inspire artists,
now they’re selling their talents
in Hollywood motels.

your lover Zeus is busy planning his next
pleasure trip to the marginal lands
of beyond marginal moral.

my Mnemosyne,
nowadays you would better stay unemployed.

  • Mnemosyne – in Greek mythology the goddess of memory