sanama

and by last winter’s anecdotes I

don’t mean weather-wise narratives

I mean the week- or day-lasting ideas of winters,

feelings of momentary springs, that

force to look behind for

the already gone

I have no patience for complete seasons:

months of drizzle, the terrible screeching in ears or

hypothetically, thick bricks of classic literature, no

the dustiness of it can’t be a way forward

––

the advice given in calendars are a bunch of hollow words I refuse to understand

so instead I collect quotes in a way, that

I forget the person who originally said it, which

leaves the nucleus of the message floating around,

unable to distinguish their origins, linearly periods or authors’ crimes

––

and the sentences carry scars, they always will

and the scarred sentences

the sentences and scars

and the scars

and