Like captured words
Killing, in the name of collection.
Now in inert beauty
In a dark drawer
Not entirely lost
Not at all what it was
But a hint…
A victim of ‘I want’.
Dark desire to possess…
Words pulled, extricated from within
Corporeal anomalies removed for
Scrutiny, examination, education
Floating specimens in jars on dusty shelves.
By trying to catch the words I kill the sentiment
I’m left with ugly remains
And work, no matter how patient,
Shall I resign to hunting words
To killing sentiment for sport?
In hopes of finding a suitable trophy:
I was here.
Excavating memories and wells of feeling
Perhaps better left untouched
Their nervous spirits disturb my rest
As I have disturbed theirs.
Pressed flowers in books
Never return to former glories
Dried, flattened memories
Memories, grey ghosts of feelings long past
Half-imagined, recreated, repainted
Blurred and offset outlines worsen
But they do distract me
From the here and now.
Trying to tame thoughts into words,
Words into lines
Pressing them in pages and
Stashing them on shelves
To keep forever