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.

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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