When I was a child
my mother lived
just by the edge of our country
After the edge there was water,
and on very clear days,
a silhouette of something
past the horizon
could be seen

We gave it cryptic names
Turned it into a kingdom
of dysfunctional
royal family members

In our shared fabrications
the royal family were fantastical,
crooked beings, they wore
rag-like clothes,
really ill-fitting cycling shorts
and moth-eaten t-shirts
Their make-up couldn’t stick
to their face
so an eye shadow would easily
become a tear

North of our house
were ice sheets
that formed their own
sovereignty
She writes portraits
Or rather
she has found someone
who writes them for her
She considers herself a compiler of assets
Her collaborator could be
compared to an archivist
Someone who analyses content
It was no easy task to find someone
suitable
for the extent of her documentation

Sometimes she asks herself,
why recompose something so compostable
as the memory of someone?
When you miss someone,
what is it, you miss about them?
An image, a picture?
Where in your presence do they reside
when you forget about them?

The way they look at you when they ask;
should I get you a coffee?
Their voice on the other line,
breaking up through a weak connection,
telling you they are on their way,
and the way they smell
when they come pick you up from your work
Waiting outside,
the way they look
at the people passing by
and the passers by
gaze on them
How they speak
to someone over the counter

You lock eyes,
for the first time
How did they feel the first time you touched?
The way they get dressed,
asking for your opinion,
what color suits them the best?
The way they undress
How they fold their clothes
after they’ve been washed

Open the fridge, open a window,
ask for a lighter, gaze at something odd,
in the periphery of your shared frame

Is it the way they touch you
when they try to reach you,
reach through you,
that stays
when everything else has departed?
I used to think that if I could document all sensations in a given moment, I would later on be able to travel back to that place in my mind. Close my eyes to the present and open them to the past. I memorized the temperature, the nuances of the season, the height from which I was looking, dimensions, proportions and held this as a piece of evidence.
There I sit
in the tranquil bath of
efflorescence
All whilst the surroundings
keep bashing the pulse
of ambulance sirens,
children screaming
from a nearby school yard,
dogs beating their tails
like little whisks
in a batter full of
freshly cut grass

Keeping my eyes closed
I envision someone
passing me by,
perhaps in the company of a small dog
running up to me,
clumsily with its tiny paws
making harmless scratches
on my bare knees,
and me exchanging a few words
with its owner
Maybe I make a comment
about the weather
that appraises
the shifting of seasons

Oh,
(“I could never really tell if that girl Cheryl was a flake or a flirt”)
the cherry blossoms
and their ephemeral life
that envelope me in their fragrance

I remember the line
in some old house track,
that lonesome statement repeating itself
like a broken record,
trying to create a mantra
that dissolves in the listener's
consciousness
as smoothly as honey
dissolves in hot water

Flake?
Flirt?
I bet Cheryl just wasn’t that into you
I bet she was busy
exploring life amidst the brief
blossoming period
of a month a year
I had warned her before
they could turn visitors like myself
into prisoners
they could give her a role
in their horror fiction
they could turn her into
a mere piece of furniture
in their living room
they were not on the outside,
trying to break in
instead they proliferated by cultivating
a seductive habitat
for their services
Inviting us to join them

All of their fixation on feedback,
I’d tell her,
is just a false negotiation of space
you just have to keep moving,
beating out a path with your own hands

She liked being my material
to help construct my
breathing organism;
a different system

tadeo_samuel_vogel_pasayo - 2026-02-20 20:04:48 - I have a question, can you contact me at tadeo-vogel@m.spheremail.net ? Cheers!

<3 - 2023-12-29 13:36:28 - <3<333333

adolphus50@moneysquad.org - 2022-10-06 00:56:37 -

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adolphus50@moneysquad.org - 2022-10-06 00:56:35 -

joan14 - 2022-10-06 00:56:35 -

Developer - 2022-10-06 00:56:33 -

Developer - 2022-10-06 00:56:25 -

shannon_boyer@moneysquad.org - 2022-10-06 00:56:09 -

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shannon_boyer@moneysquad.org - 2022-10-06 00:56:06 -

joan14 - 2022-10-06 00:56:05 -

shannon_boyer@moneysquad.org - 2022-10-06 00:56:03 -

joan14 - 2022-10-06 00:55:57 -

118 Yundt Burg - 2022-10-06 00:51:14 -

- 2022-10-06 00:51:14 -

118 Yundt Burg - 2022-10-06 00:51:13 -

Suite 574 - 2022-10-06 00:51:12 -

118 Yundt Burg - 2022-10-06 00:51:11 -

Suite 574 - 2022-10-06 00:51:03 -

lonnie46 - 2022-10-06 00:50:45 -

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lonnie46 - 2022-10-06 00:50:43 -

nico.franecki@bdcimail.com - 2022-10-06 00:50:42 -

nico.franecki@bdcimail.com - 2022-10-06 00:50:40 -

lonnie46 - 2022-10-06 00:50:38 -

lonnie46 - 2022-10-06 00:50:21 -

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lonnie46 - 2022-10-06 00:50:17 -

baylee_harris@bdcimail.com - 2022-10-06 00:50:15 -

baylee_harris@bdcimail.com - 2022-10-06 00:50:13 -

lonnie46 - 2022-10-06 00:50:08 -

E - 2022-04-11 00:22:06 - so beautiful

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*_* - 2022-03-31 12:01:05 - I love it!!