memory interrupt
found poem
born of a metro stub
Moscow underground

nestled in page 82
a Guide to Oriental Carpets
or perhaps was it
Fodor’s Spanish Idioms
unleashes the hologram
that gray afternoon
two hundred moons ago
stealing away from the tour group
during hotel personal relax time
deliciously impersonating
a streetwise passerby
on an elegant train car
lovely spacious arched platforms
warm classical music
the Russians more cultivated than us
wear their suffering more regally
yet more brutal too
the charm of what they not yet quite are
two maybe three stops
buying a blini
then back to what’s prescribed
enjoying manufactured freedom
in hasty reverse
to the orderly safety
all this splendor —
of past riches —
because time for another purging
of books and of trinkets
accumulated yet another decade
some to be gifted away now
some tossed, some promoted
I, the curator for a day
to make anew a zen space
in my contemplative basement burrow
as if I’ve any semblance
of aimful direction
over this parading
onslaught of thoughts…
as if my consciousness
were not really
ten million million
unruly wayward bookmarks

rob stolzy

I try to diminish the distance between thought space above and word space below.

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