You are never on time. “I’ll see you in ten minutes” could mean anything from half an hour to a lifetime or so. It used to bother me a lot. I perceived your tardiness as disrespectful and still smiled at you, trying to keep my cool. continue reading
Month: Aug 2022
That old devil moon
It never entered my mind that the kind of blue, the blue in green, could simply squeeze me like a night in Tunisia, where smooch sometimes follows great expectations, but often settles for alone continue reading
A sonorous tryst
Forgive my verdant embouchure, timidly practised in dark alleys, and guide my fingers through respite in somewhat hurried pizzicato. There is no shame in apposition set off by commas, casually, continue reading
Cooking for one
I was going to make a proper dinner, but once again settled for a banana mash with nuts, Greek tahini and currants. continue reading
One could always use a fountain pen
When did we stop using fountain pens? I used to like the blue scribbles on the pages of my notebook. And why would someone else’s words, if one found them not worth the ink, still be kept in the ethereal depths continue reading
The one
I’m not looking for someone perfect, but someone who would trade empty pots on the windowsill for a good synecdoche continue reading
What happened after the last wedding?
As presumptuous as it might be, I think we nailed the sobriety of all the microwaved expectations out of the marital freezer, none of which exceeded continue reading
After you left
It’s been two years since we drew that bold line and abandoned the canvas somewhere in the loft. I gave up the easels. You let the brushes and paints go. continue reading
Shame
After many a night, when the constant parade of substitute futures diving into my halcyon booth leaves an aftertaste of a sealed body, I wander the deserted beach, chased by the enraged cries of seagulls continue reading
Words never rust
“Words never rust, I promise.” That is what you said, remember? Yet, it still feels like mocking Harlequin and Columbine at Tivoli. And you can’t even wink now, once we have played all the classics continue reading
The cadaver of me
When windows become doors and doors windows, when every next bus stop is a rushed page away, and a kachina doll collection takes on such importance continue reading
One day
I thought if I moved on, one day I would have a decent bed, lined with satin strokes and a longing “once upon a time,” with Chet’s Almost Blue and merrily misplaced cufflinks continue reading
Hope against hope
I remember when “for ever” simply complemented “are we there yet?”, only to turn into “for as long as it is humanly possible” over time. But as The Freewheelin’ has stopped spinning over the winter months continue reading
The inheritance
Sometimes I take pictures of genre scenes with half-empty bottles. I hoard them in rolls of undeveloped film lying around in the drawer continue reading
My deathbed bride
When I close my eyes, will they shine once you trade my touch piece for the waterway toll? You know, there is no room for us both, continue reading
hidden pilcrow 