a guessing

Indentation remains
a bed –

spread clamminess, a must your shape
I fill with sand, a presentation of
the old days: green man and red
women straddle tenfaced beasts
whose names burn my face

I lose my balancing in concaves
a shell, you, where you were.
Sympathetic casting,
disaster of Paris,
a place to lie and maybe
what remains of us.

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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

One response to “a guessing

  • bengwalchmai

    Wow brother.

    This is beautiful, weighty stuff.

    Read aloud – giving more time to the punctuation, that is, and not as much to the spacing – it has bite and quiet fury and still a sympathy in its losing of ‘…balance in concaves’.

    Also, that last line is killer.

    Nicely done, sir. Nicely done, indeed.

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