Mnemonic Asphyxiation Shrouded in Vicious Peace
A sparrow is rubbing its beaks against the crenelated ink-stains: inherited
from the hollows of an embattled myth, shrouded in vicious peace.
In its titter, a lilt too tame.
The remembrance of a tapestried pillowcase: an incurable faith
in appearance, and nothing but appearance. A cadence
this city is incapable of edging out of. This bewitching dereliction
is nothing but an excuse for us to criddle: a dictated respite, a practiced
interruption, an invented hollow. A bookcase is crumbling inside
the unlit corridors of a library. You are leaving behind the dead-white schoolrooms
to quote a not-yet fully redundant rhythm. The imprints of your palms
on the walls. I try to cast mine in accordance, and fail.
What I am left with, is the deafening captive memory of an echo. Not knowing
what else to do, I am kissing slurs in the margins of your rudimentary scribbles.
A crawl through the walkways of this language
of the disfigured harmonium, the tuneless rally-chant,
the incomprehensible jargon: we are as yet
undecided about the musical instrument of our choice.
Yes, I am waiting.
