Memori

He looks up and dislocates a gazing bird, now

Some fairness, a sickening gauze falls down

Suggesting he really did miss the haze, the rocks,

The sooty terns that winterly nested;

Folded in the battered face.

„Go back to the sea”, they say.

„Go find the waders, their

Cotton sweaters thick with weeds

And lipid slips, trips old oars…”

Or,

Or,

„Draw the blinds and blow your brains, kid,

Do it, like you did back in ’04”

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About Benjamin Norris

Published writer of short stories, long stories, poems. Well received art critic and cultural commentator for Berlin magazines. Collaborator with operatic societies. Co-writer of fictional historic psycholinguistic journals. Lecturer of architecture and art history at a Budapest University. View all posts by Benjamin Norris

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