Notes
Persistent as daydreams
half given to heavy flown clouds,
grazing their bellies on the needle point
of something I could not remember -
these notes furious in my computer
make no sense, make no time,
give no memory that I know was mine,
a worthy turn of words to be proud.
Cotton tongued I am perhaps
from all those red eyed nights I spent collecting
those clouds at the top of my ceiling;
how they became anorexic
strides of black felt words
found tripping across a ripped slim book
of pages,
a sight I could not digest.
Do you remember? They ask me, plainly.
No, no I do not –
twiddling a sentence
in the fidget of my fingers,
stubbing a thought out in the hiss
of an ashtray.
Marianne Louise Daniels
Mon 11th Nov 2013 08:47
Hi Cynthia! Thank you for reading and comments.
Will take note of suggestions... want 'pages' in even though it does seem clumsy because I am talking about rolling papers - they are very slim pathetic pages if one was to use them for writing material ... although Kerouac wrote a book on toilet roll so who knows!
Hope you are well xx