The Bookshop on Saint Andrew’s Street

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It’s no longer there…
a “We’ve Moved” sign placed up high…
some things can’t be moved immediately or afterwards
such as the pages, folded at the edges, to be read less
than to be recollected,
such as the queue in front of the cash register
such as the backbones of saints
I search for the bookshop on Saint Andrew’s Street…
terribly ill by its absence
after all, this is where the hours passed
their hours with me, and the hours search insistently
for that which can’t be moved or migrated,
which oppresses and suspends generations… Continue reading “The Bookshop on Saint Andrew’s Street”

Foretaste

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A little further from the light cast by the lamp there begins another world, an unknown world – who has ever gone there? who has every returned from there? – and then there are nights – ah! how many adventures there are dreams, so many that you life becomes insignificant (and hence dangerous) – Continue reading “Foretaste”

City of London

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N.N. Trakakis
Clearings, Nov 2010

Here books and bookshops
have a distinct fragrance
like incense rising
offering itself
to a venerable pious congregation.

Here people and palaces
have an ancient architecture
Roman and Romanesque at once
not led astray by flights of abstraction
only trusting in the everyday and concrete
joyfully signing in the underground
at peak hour
or biting their lips to not let in
the winter
enjoying as long as possible
the leaves auburn and golden
falling.

Continue reading “City of London”

Seabed

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Seabed

The rupture in the voice propels the course of the blood clot and at the summit there gapes the joy of the coming of another long-headed woman. Her petals folded and the necklace she bent over to grab provokes and protects her copulation far from the corncobs and velvet of the seashore. Continue reading “Seabed”

Desire

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Desire

Prostrate and with sugar on her lips she lay down on the luminous wreath of love. It was not long before the summons was heard. Initially two birds took her, followed by the wires of the compassionate conspiracy, and finally she was taken away by five roosters which looked like horses that were literate, and they touched her private parts. Continue reading “Desire”

Bitter thorn

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Bitter thorn

The young lady I encountered in my drawer appeared and then vanished. In her place a wisp of smoke carries the phosphorus of her frieze. Emigrants exploit the expanses she left behind but the child of our memories brings the tentacles which resemble the six different delights of the young lady who was basically a mother to her child and my mother. Sometimes I live inside the drawer. Continue reading “Bitter thorn”