Tuesday, February 1, 2011

in the end, but a formative imprint (3)



in the end, but a formative print
now cross-faded like an analogue song

as memorialized on parallel sound-tracks—
cleaved-in original celluloid.

fully preserved
in a valise,

two, sealed aluminum cans
require curators' attention;

each with dusty, tawny labels
that read: Never Release.




3 comments:

Old 333 said...

Really stays with me - stored images, ancient and fatal love; the whole thing whirls in my mind with the beautifully drawn bird - mark thought. I saw two falcons do the clasp thing once, way up in the abandoned quarry, and it was raw f&*ked up and wonderful. I like the way I've encountered these poems, in pieces - they are beautiful and absorbing, like bits of broken stories carved in relief and lost in the countryside. Thank you so much for them.

Peter

Noxalio said...

Peter, i'm in awe of fierce birds, they're breathtaking!

Old 333 said...

They made a whistling sound in the air - like jet fighters crossed with pan-pipes - they were unbelievable. Pure fury and love. Wish I could send the memory to you.

P